Hot Date

I seriously screwed up. Tickets to see my favorite band had gone on sale earlier in the week for a show on Sunday night, but I waited too long, and they ended up sold out before I could get one. To say I was disappointed would be putting it much too mildly. They were only going to do a handful of shows here in the States and had already announced that they would be breaking up after this little farewell tour. It was obvious that this would be the only chance I had to see them perform live unless drove to New York or Chicago on a weeknight or flew to London. All those scenarios were impossible because of money constraints and work obligations, unfortunately. I wasn't completely broke, so I checked eBay and Craigslist to see if anyone was selling tickets, and sure enough, I found a few, but the cheapest I found was for $500, and that was just too damned expensive.

I went out to a crowded bar with a few friends on Friday night and had more than a few drinks. I did not get totally hammered, but I did have enough that I turned into a bit of a complaining loudmouth when I started griping about missing the show. I am sure that everyone in my general vicinity was tired of my pointless bitching, but it felt cathartic just the same. Returning home, I drank some water, took some aspirin, and quickly fell asleep.

The next morning I woke up well-rested and with a smaller than expected headache. I puttered around a bit and had some breakfast and then decided to check my email. I had a few messages since last night, but one stood out as if it were flashing in red letters. The subject heading said, "Still need a ticket?" I quickly looked at the name of the sender, and it said, "Nicky Thomas". That name seemed vaguely familiar, but I could not place it. Ignoring the other messages, I quickly clicked on that one to see what this "Nicky Thomas" had to say. He wrote succinctly, "I have a ticket for Sunday's show. It's a pretty hot commodity. If you are interested, maybe we can work out a deal." I was practically bouncing in my chair at my change of fortunes. I was about to write him back, but I decided to search Google find out who I was writing to. There were many hits for the name "Nicky Thomas", but I soon figured out which one it was. He was DJ at the college radio station I used to work for before graduation two years ago. I went to the station's website and found a little biography of him. He was a first semester senior who had been working there since he was a freshman, meaning that our paths had probably crossed before. There were a few pictures of him on the website, but I didn't recognize him. To be perfectly frank, he looked like a typical college music nerd, the kind I see at most of the shows I go to. I think of myself as a female version of this kind of nerd, so I am not putting him down too much, and besides, I did not care what he looked like, I just wanted his ticket.

Not wanting to appear too eager, I wrote back, "I still want to go to the show. How much do you want for the ticket?" All I could do was wait for a response and hope that he was not going to demand a crazy ticket scalper price. After what seemed like forever, he wrote back, "I got my ticket from the station for free, and I really want to go, but I heard you going on about it last night and it sounded like you want to go even more than me. What is it worth to you?"

I almost wished that he had asked for a specific price so I could either jump at it or dismiss it, but it looked like I was stuck bargaining with him without any leverage. Gritting my teeth, I wrote back that I could not offer him any more than a hundred dollars. This was true, too. I had looked at how much money I had at hand and how many bills I had to pay in the next few weeks, and I determined that a hundred was all I could sanely afford. A few months earlier, however, I would have grudgingly paid the $500 the eBay jerks were asking. I assumed that Nicky Thomas was going to ask for my hundred bucks or move on to another desperate fan with deeper pockets, but he wrote back, "I don't want to be a scalper. Could we barter instead?" Barter? What does he want, I wondered, some of my albums? All I could do was write him back and ask what he wanted in trade. It took him almost an hour to respond, and when he did, he wrote,"I'll let you have the ticket in exchange for a hot date with you tonight. Call me." He also gave me his phone number.

I was taken aback, to say the least. I was going to tell him to go to hell, but the more I thought about it, the more tempting the idea became. It would just be some weird date with a music geek, I'd get to go to the show, and I'd still have all my money. Stalling for time to think more, I wrote to him and demanded that he show me that he had the ticket. He didn't keep me waiting this time. It only took him about five minutes to send me a scan of the ticket cleverly sitting on top of a copy of yesterday's school newspaper. I nearly groaned at the sight of the ticket. I wanted to pluck it off of the screen of my monitor, but I knew I had to call this Nicky Thomas.

I called the number and the phone must have rung about six times before he answered. He greeted me with a hello. I cut right to the chase and said, "Hi, Nicky. This is Jayne. I'm calling about the ticket to the show tomorrow."

"Thanks for calling me," he said. "Do we have a deal?"

"What exactly is the deal? I asked.

"A hot date. You and me, dinner at my place. There'll be music and drinks," he said and then paused a little before adding, "...and you'll spend the night."

I almost hung up on him, but I stayed on the line, thinking. Eventually, he asked if I was still there. I told him I was, and just to say something, I asked, "What does spending the night mean?"

"It means whatever I want, Jayne. I'm sure you have limits, and I'll respect them, but I won't ask for anything too weird, I promise."

I told him I'd call him back, and he said to call back within the hour or else he'd have to make other plans. All I could do was bargain back and forth with myself. Was it worth it? $500 would have been an acceptable price a month before, and all he wanted was a so-called "hot date"? I thought about how I wouldn't be cheating on anyone and about how this could be construed as little different from a "friend with benefits" situation. I also thought about how much I wanted to see the show and of how easy it would be to go. When I thought about how I'd feel if I missed my last chance to see this band, I realized what I had to do. I called Nicky Thomas and said, "Okay. It's a deal. What time is dinner?"

He said to be there at 8pm, and I said that I would be. That left me with about five hours to kill. I tried reading a book, but I could not concentrate. I even tried to nap, but sleep would not come. I tried nodding off, but then I would imagine what the "hot date" might entail and then I would sense myself responding to my imagination. "No, no, no," I said aloud to myself as I quickly got up out of bed. I knew I would need a shower, and at that point I figured that it should probably be a cold one.

As the eight o'clock hour drew near, I needed to get dressed. I knew I was not going to get all dolled up, but I needed to figure out what to wear. Thoughts of a skirt were quickly dismissed, as was anything remotely risque. In the end, I chose a simple pink blouse and jeans. I also decided not to wear any make-up. I looked like I was going to a bookstore on a Sunday morning or something. I was not sure what sort of image I wanted to project, but I certainly did not want to appear too eager.

It eventually became time to get in my car and drive to his place. His directions were easy enough, and I was there quicker than I had planned. I was nervous enough that I decided to drive around a bit to kill some time so that I could show up right at 8pm. When it came time, I parked the car in front of his building, and went in and rang his buzzer. "Who is it?" he asked through the intercom. I rolled my eyes and said, "It's me."

"Come on up," he answered.

When I got to his door, I took a deep breath and knocked. The door opened and he met me with a smile. "Come on in, Jayne. I'm glad you could make it." With that he shook my hand and let me in. "I'm not quite done with dinner yet. It'll be a few more minutes. In the meantime, have some wine and put some music on."

He brought me a glass of white wine while carrying one for himself. Handing me mine, he said, "Here's to our date." I smiled and took a sip and was pleased that it was very good. Just to make conversation, I asked what sort of wine it was, and he said that it was called Conundrum, a California wine that mixed a few different types of grapes. I must admit that it was delicious. "It will go well with the salmon," he offered.

"I'm sure it will," I answered.

"Put on something you like," he said, pointing to his stereo. "Anything. I need to finish up in the kitchen."

He went back to the kitchen, and I checked out his albums. Even though I knew he was a DJ, I was still surprised to see how many albums he had that I liked. I usually find myself recoiling at the the musical tastes of others, but his actually impressed me. I managed to drink the whole glass by the time I found something I wanted to play. It was an album I had read about but had never actually seen, so I decided to make the most of the situation and listen to it. When I put it on, I heard him in the kitchen say, "Cool." He came out to the living room and filled up my glass for me. "I love this record," he said. "I got it at the show they did last year." I responded by saying that I knew it was rare and that I hadn't seen a copy before. He just smiled and said, "I'm glad you found something you liked", and then clinked our glasses again. He went back to the kitchen, assuring me that he was almost finished, and I checked out his apartment. It was a music nerd's bachelor pad, that's for sure. There were band posters on the walls and stacks of recently played CDs and a couple of racks of LPs. His place looked like mine did when I was in school, except mine was a bit neater.

After a few minutes, he announced that he was ready, and he brought out the plates and set them on what passed for a dining room table. He had made grilled salmon with a lemony butter sauce along with some corn and rice. It was nothing too fancy, I guess, but from a college guy, it seemed like a miracle had been performed. He also brought out some more wine, this time a sauvignon blanc from New Zealand. He said that it would be even better with the salmon than the first wine, and he was right.

The food tasted great, and the wine was loosening my tongue. I asked him about music and being a DJ. I didn't say anything about my working at his station before, though. I was just making conversation on subjects we had in common, and it made the time pass pleasantly. When the album that was playing ended, he got up to put something else on. Maybe it was the wine and force of habit, but I found myself checking him out from behind. I found myself thinking, "Hmmmm....not bad," but then I caught myself and thought, "No, no, no, it's not going to be like that." This time I wasn't surprised when he choose some music I liked. As soon as the first song kicked in, I knew it was an old favorite of mine. It was dreamy music that swirled wordlessly, and when asked if I wanted more wine, I couldn't help but say yes. He filled my glass while smiling, and I said, "Thank you, Nicky," and closed my eyes to drift with the music.

"You like this, huh?" he asked.

"Yeah, it's gorgeous."

"Too bad we can't dance to it."

He was right about that. It wasn't dance music by anyone's definition. I pondered it a bit and realized what the music would be perfect for other than zoning out and riding the melodies. As if he was reading my mind, he said, "Let's move this to my room." My throat caught for a moment, somehow surprised that the inevitable had arrived already, but I just nodded and got up and followed him into his bedroom.

His room was small and I got the impression that it had been cleaned very recently. There were books and magazines all over, but it was not a mess, just busy. I started looking at some of his books and was about to ask him something when he startled me by breaking the awkward silence himself. "Jayne, he said,"are you cool with this?"

I wasn't as nervous as I would have been without the wine, but I still had to fight from stammering. "We are bartering, right? You have something I want, and I have something you want, right?"

"That's right."

"And you said that you'd respect my limits, didn't you?"

"I did, and I will."

"Then I am cool with it."

With that he pressed some buttons on a receiver and the dreamy music from outside was now in his room. Then he dimmed the lights a bit. He smiled a small smile at me and said, "I'll try not to hit your limits. Tell me if I'm getting close."

"Come here," he said and directed me to stand in front of him with my back to him but facing the full-length mirror on his door. In the mirror, I could see myself and him standing behind, his eyes looking into mine. His hands went to my shoulders and brushed my hair behind my neck. I swallowed deeply, trying not to be too obvious about it, and I looked up to see his hands readying to unbutton my blouse. I saw the first button come undone, and I looked back up and saw him watching my face. Moving to the next button, his fingers soon opened my shirt a little more, the top of my bra showing now. When I looked up again into his eyes reflected in the mirror, I realized that he was looking for my reactions. I tried being stoic and impassive, but here I was being undressed by someone who was still mostly a stranger, and I had to struggle to keep my knees from buckling.

When he reached the last button, he opened my blouse to the sides and watched me in the mirror. With a slight bit of pressure, he had me raise my arms above my head, and then he pulled my blouse off. Looking at my reflection I couldn't help but have to conflicting thoughts, as silly as they seem now. Part of me regretted not wearing a more utilitarian bra and the other wished that the one I had on was prettier. His hands broke my reverie by sliding down from my shoulders to my wrists, pulling them behind me slightly. Then his hands moved to my stomach and slowly moved up to just below my bra. Then, watching my face the whole time, I'm sure, a finger traced the curve of the skin of my breasts right above the top of my bra. My mouth was nearly dry at this point, but I managed to say, "I need to tell you something."

"Yes?"

"I am agreeing to this arrangement willingly, but don't expect me to respond like I'm into it or anything."

"I know, Jayne," he said gently, and then his fingers unsnapped the button on top of my jeans. "This is a simple trade." I was wearing button-fly jeans, and he proceeded to start unbuttoning them from behind me. Each button opened with a quiet thud, and as such seemed like little finalities that could not be gone back on, more so than a slowly opened zipper would have. "You should step out of them now."

I summoned my strength, took a breath, and let the jeans drop to the floor. I pulled one foot out and then the other. He picked them up and folded them over a chair. Stepping back behind me, he watched me in the mirror again. The silence was almost unbearable as I saw his eye drifting over my body in the reflection. For whatever reason, probably just to break the tension somehow, I asked rhetorically with a tinge of sarcasm, "Do you like what you see?"

"Oh yes, I do indeed," he said grinning. "Turn around for me." He stepped back from me, and I slowly turned to face him. "Turn around some more. I want to see all of you." I did what he wanted and slowly spun in place, feeling very deeply that I was on display. He stepped forward and stopped me, holding me by the shoulders from behind and facing the mirror again. I felt his fingers on the clasp of my bra, and then I heard him say, "36 C. Just like I guessed." I shuddered a little at his words, knowing that he was reading the little tag, and then I felt the two hooks of the clasp being pulled apart. I looked up and caught his glance in the mirror, and then I saw his eyes look down over my shoulders and down my chest. He stared intently as he slipped the bra off my breasts, revealing my nipples to his sight. "They are larger than I suspected, and darker, too. But I like what I see," he said quietly. I was able to maintain composure and stand straight, but inside I was losing a battle. When his hands reached around me and touched the tips of my nipples, I tried to steel myself by thinking "No, no, no...", but he grabbed one between a thumb and finger and squeezed and then asked, "No? This isn't a limit, I hope." I realized that I must have been muttering out loud. I shook my head no, and he squeezed the other one in the same way, causing me to gasp. "It's okay, Jayne," he said, his breath warming my ear, "I don't expect you to be into it."

As he squeezed and pulled on my nipples, I knew I was losing what little resistance I had left. Warmth and moisture flooded between my legs, and as my knees weakened, I unconsciously leaned into him. I could feel his hard bulge pressing against the small of my back. This gave a physical presence to that which I was so much trying to resist desiring. I lingered there for too long a moment, then I stood back as straight as I could. This made me jut out my chest into his hands more than I wanted, and he responded with a firm pinch to both nipples at once. This caused me to let out a noise that was somewhere between a squeal and a grunt, the first blatant sex noise I had made since it started. He leaned to my right ear and taunted me by whispering, "Did you just respond?"

"Are you done yet?" I snapped in defiance that somehow felt convincing for a few seconds.

With a grin spreading across his face, he said "I'll be done when I say I am done, Jayne. Okay?" I did not answer, and he responded by pulling me close against the bulge in his pants. "Okay?" he asked again. I mumbled a yes, and he said, "Good."

"You know, it's just not fair for me to be standing here all dressed while you're nearly naked. Right?" He didn't wait for an answer. He just led me to his bed and had me sit down. He started unbuttoning his shirt, but I kept my eyes fixed on his, both because I wanted to show some sense of resistance and because I was almost scared to look under his belt buckle. He opened his shirt all the way but left it on and then stepped closer to me. "Give me a hand with the pants, would you please?" I struggled to keep my hands steady as I loosened his belt and unsnapped the top button. "Now the zipper," he said. I pulled at it, and when it came down, the pressure from within pushed the soft cloth of his underwear through the new opening. "Now down with the pants," he said, his voice halfway between pleasant and condescending. I gave the pants a tug and they slipped to the floor where he stepped out of them. Picking them up, he folded the pants and placed them on top of mine on the chair. Standing back in front of me, he had me get up off the bed and stand in front of him.

He reached out and started fondling my breasts again while I did my best to maintain eye contact. "I'm loving these tits of yours, and I know you love this..." he said, punctuating the "this" with a sharp squeeze and tug on my right nipple. I managed not to squeal, but my mouth opened with a sudden inhalation of breath, and that seemed to please him just as much. "I think you need a kiss, Jayne," he said, and then he pulled me up tight against him and bent down to kiss me on the mouth. He kept kissing until he stopped and said, "You really do have to kiss me back, you know. I'm sure kissing's not a limit breaker." He went back to kissing me, and I began kissing him back because I knew I had to. Maybe it was the wine or the fact that I hadn't been kissed for a while, but I started to get kiss him with more gusto than was necessary to comply with his demands. I answered the presence of his tongue with some tongue action of my own. It was if I was determined to "show him" in some way. He eventually broke off the kiss and looked me in the eyes. Our eyes locked for a moment as we caught our breaths, and then he started kissing my neck with a maddening delicacy. This was a major weakness of mine, and it was all I could do to keep from moaning. Then his left hand reached up between us and started squeezing my right breast, and then his right hand started kneading my panty-covered ass, eventually pulling my lower body up close to his. I could feel his erection as hard as a rock against my belly as he massaged my butt cheeks. I scarcely knew where I was at that point. If he hadn't been holding me up somewhat, I might have collapsed. With all the sensations overwhelming me, it was a shock when he suddenly stopped. I was almost panting when he stepped back to look at me. "Damn, Jayne, look at you," he said, his eyes taking it all in. "Do you want a drink?" I nodded yes, and he said, "Stay right there. I'll be right back."

He came back with new glasses of wine for the both of us. My mouth was almost dry at that point, so the wine really hit the spot. We both sat down on the bed and drank most of our glasses, and he finally said to me, "I don't know about you, but I was getting ready to pop a few minutes ago. I can tell I have a hair trigger right now, so I need you to take the edge off so I can last more than ten seconds when the real fireworks begin. So finish the wine." He swallowed the rest of his and laid upon the bed with his back on an angle leaning against a pillow and the headboard. I drank some of the wine, and when I did, I glanced down at his shorts and saw that the respite hadn't dampened his erection. He didn't wait for me to finish the glass. He took the glass from my hand and placed it on an end table. Taking my hand, he pulled it towards his bulge and said, "Touch it." I touched it with my fingertips, but he put his hand over mine and squeezed it through the material for both of us. He started my hand stroking, then he removed his, leaving me to continue on my own, which I did. I looked up at his face and saw his eyes closed, just enjoying the feel of my hand, and then his eyes suddenly opened and he said, "Okay, stop, stop..." I stopped and he said, "Now take it out." I had to get up and pull off his boxer briefs. Watching my breasts as I bent over seemed to appeal to him, so he said, "Get on your knees near my shins. Now slowly bend over and suck me like that." I did as he said and bent over and took his cock into my mouth. I could hear him breathily whisper, "Oh my God" to no one in particular, and then I felt him reach down near his thighs and started pulling on my breasts with gentle milking motions. The sensations of that were intense, and because my mouth was quite full, I didn't even bother to try stifling my moan. My guttural growl and his hair trigger seemed to combine and he immediately began to ejaculate. I pulled my head off as fast as I could, but as was my habit, I pumped him with my hand until he was done. He put on quite a show, moaning and gasping and making a sticky mess of the bed. When he finally seemed to regain normal consciousness, I asked him with a smirk, "Did that take the edge off?"

"That it did, Jayne. I take it that you're not a gal that swallows?"

"You found a limit, Nicky."

He then got up and went to a closet and pulled out a blanket. "Get up for a sec." he said, and when I did, he spread the blanket out over the bed. "I can always change the sheets tomorrow." He then had me lay down on the blanket. "Let me look at you," he said. "Have I told you how much I love these tits of yours?" he asked. "Your nipples get hard as rocks, almost begging to be touched." Maybe it was a hair trigger of my own, but his words seemed to have the effect of making my nipples both get fully hard at the same time. I sure could feel it, but I blushed when I heard him say, "Holy shit! That was awesome. They're asking to be touched!" He gave them both a quick pinch and I bit my lip to keep quiet. Then he laid down next to me and began to suck on one. If I was asking for it, I was definitely getting an answer that felt amazing. Because I knew he couldn't see me, I was able to let my face react to the sensations I was feeling. My eyes scrunched up and my mouth was open wide in a silent groan as he suckled on my nipple and licked at it and bit it softly. The silence broke with a sudden "Oh!" from my throat, however, when I felt a hand graze between my legs.

"You still think you won't 'respond', Jayne?" I looked away from him as he began teasing a nipple with one hand and stroking the crotch of my panties with the other. "You know you're soaked through, right? Look at me." I looked back at him, embarrassed at how wet he knew I was. "Take them off." I lifted myself up off the bed a bit and pulled off my panties. I tossed them on top of his pants, and when I did, I thought to myself, "God, they feel like I sat in a puddle."

I laid back down and he said, "Put yours arms over your head and spread your legs apart. I want to look at you." I did what he asked and I closed my eyes. I could hear him moving around the bed, but I kept my eyes shut, even when he would occasionally touch me. A finger would tickle me under an earlobe, then the tip of his tongue would tease the tip of a nipple, then a kiss would brush my belly button. I maintained my composure through willpower, but I lost it when I felt him kissing the inside of my thighs. I know I let loose with an "ohmygod", and this reaction emboldened him to pursue that area more, pressing my thighs further apart and kissing the skin there ever so softly. If he was looking at my face, he must have seen my response, that look that appears to be that of great pain but is really the opposite. It felt like all the blood in my body was flowing through my genitals, and I really was aching to be touched there. When he stopped teasing me suddenly, I nearly dropped my defenses and almost said, "Why'd you stop?" Instead, I just lay there panting.

"Jayne, look at me." I slowly opened my eyes, but only two thirds of the way, I guess. "Show me how you play with yourself."

"No, I said, "I can't do that."

"Sure you can. You've done it before, I'm sure. It's not a 'limit' if you've done it before."

"Not with anyone watching," I protested.

"Well, he's your chance to to have a first time." And with that he reached up and grabbed my right wrist and pulled it down between my legs. "I want to see this." At this point, there was no use of denying him anything, so I started. With my eyes shut, I pulled my heels up under my thighs and spread them wide, and then I started rubbing where it felt good. The weirdest thing was how when I started I felt like I was almost ready to come. Being so turned on since we started had brought me most of the way, but knowing I was being watched must have helped me along because I was soon right on the edge, gasping and moaning. I was seconds away from my goal, I think, when I felt him grab my hand and made me stop. I looked up and saw him standing there, completely hard again. "Move over," he said, and then he slid in next to me. Lying on his back, he said, "Climb on top of me and get fucked." I wanted it as much as he did at that point, so I did what he said. I positioned his cock in the right spot and then dropped onto it slowly. The way it filled me felt like pure paradise and it nearly knocked the wind out of me. I stayed stationary for maybe half a minute just to get used to the penetration, and then I started to ride him. If there is anything more satisfying than pleasure denied and then gained, I don't know what it is. "Look at those tits," I heard him say, and then he grabbed them as I rode him. He got a loud moan out of me when he started to rub my clit as we continued to fuck. "That's my girl," he said at the sound of the moan, but I was beyond caring. "You really don't remember me, do you?" he asked.

"Remember you? Why?"

"Three years ago, there was a party at the station. You were shitfaced, and we nearly hooked up, but you ended up going home with another guy and left me with blue balls."

"I'm sorry, I don't remember that at all," I said, but then he started rubbing my clit again and all I could do was let out a loud, "Ohhhhhh...."

"That's okay," he said as he started rubbing me faster and thrusting up into me with more vigor than before, "Now I have you whoring yourself for a concert ticket and just about to come on my cock." And with that, everything seemed to explode inside my body and brain. My orgasm was simply a mindblowing burst of pleasure, and I am pretty sure that he came at the same time as I did. I have no idea how long it lasted, but I soon found myself lying on the blanket next to him, sweaty and exhausted. We were silent for a few minutes, and then he finally said, "You should probably get going. The ticket is on the dresser." I'm not sure what I should have expected, but I was rather taken aback. I rolled off the bed and gathered my clothes, tossing my panties in my purse since I certainly wasn't putting those back on. I didn't know what to say, if anything. When I was just about ready to go, I heard him say, "You can let yourself out, right?" I said yes, and he just said, "Have fun at the show."