FEELS LIKE THE FIRST TIME

by Scott Hildreth

  I read each one of them and read them again. Reading all of them turned me on. The more I read them, the more turned on I got. A part of that feeling, I was sure, was because of who sent them. The other part of the turn-on was what the questions were asking me to do or to consider doing. There wasn’t a part of the questions that didn’t turn me on. Just asking those things turned me on. Also, I began to wonder, as deep, mentally, as Erik was…if he wanted to know if it was a turn-on for me to read it, or if it was a turn-on for me to think it, or if it was a turn-on in my mind for me to actually do it?

  I decided yes to all of the above. I was ready to discuss this with him. I wanted to perform for him, and I wanted him to be happy with my performance. I wanted to have him push me to my knees and force himself on me, telling me, Get down on your knees you little whore, and suc…The thought of it made me begin to get comfortably uncomfortable.

  I have never been so concerned with what someone thought about me. I have always, in a way, used guys for sex. I have always used them to get what I want, and I have always left them before, or just as soon as, they decided that they were falling for me. I never wanted them to perceive me as being ugly, or awful sexually, but I didn’t really care, for the most part, what they thought.

  Trying to decide what to wear has always been a task for me. Tonight, I walked to my room, picked out a summer dress to wear, and got dressed. Panties or no panties? Decisions, decisions, decisions. No panties. Flats or heels? Flats. Hair up or down? Down. Now, standing in front of the mirror, I looked for any imperfections. None. I checked my phone and found no messages. It was six o’clock. Maybe he got hung up at the biker card game thing. I took off my dress and sat on the couch in my flats and bra. I no more than sat down and the phone beeped.

  Erik Ead: Call me

  I pushed dial and immediately called him back. It rang twice, and he answered.

  “Good evening, Kelli.”

  “Hello. How was the motorcycle ride?” I asked.

  “It was a great ride, thank you. Are you ready?” he asked.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Are you home?”

  “Yes, sir, I am home.”

  “Come out front, I am parked in front of the front door.”

  “You know where I live? You’re here?” I asked as I looked out the window toward the street. From the third floor, I could see the street and almost directly in front of the door I saw a black BMW M3 parked there. I wondered if that was him.

  “Yes, and yes,” he responded.

  “But…okay. I will be down in a second,” I said as I grabbed my purse and raced for the door.

  I realized I wasn’t dressed yet and ran back to the couch and got dressed.

  Erik drives me crazy.

  As I got into the elevator and pushed the button, I wondered if that was him in the car or if he was on his motorcycle. I never thought to ask. I began to wonder about the series of questions that he texted me, telling me, think about these Kelli, but do not respond. I also remembered that he asked those three weird questions. Chopsticks, grapefruit, and going on interracial dates. Weird. He said he’d explain later, but he didn’t. Not yet, anyway. The elevator reached the street level, and I exited and walked toward the door that led to the street.

  As I got to the front door and opened it, I could see him through the windows of the car. It was a black BMW M3. I looked at the back of the car for the badge of my father’s dealership, but I did not see one. I reached for the passenger door, and I noticed him lean over and open it for me. As the door came ajar, I finished opening it and got in.

  “Good evening, Kelli,” he smiled as he spoke. He smelled so good.

  “Good evening. First things first. What are you wearing?”

  “Jeans, black leather shoes, and a grey V-neck tee,” he responded, motioning to his clothes with his right hand.

  “No, the cologne. It’s wonderful.”

  “Oh, I see. Yves St. Laurent, L’Homme.”

  “Well, whatever it is, I love it.”

  “Buckle your seatbelt, Kelli. And thank you,” he said as he pulled away from the curb.

  As I buckled my seatbelt, I studied him. He was focused on the road and speeding up slowly, shifting gears with the paddle shifters on the steering wheel. I had seen enough of these cars in my father’s dealership to know what he was doing and what this car was capable of doing. It was basically a race car for the street - and fairly expensive for a guy who lives in a shitty house in Bel Aire.

  His jaw was tight as he drove. His strong chin slightly lifted and with his hands tight on the wheel, his biceps flexed each time he turned the steering wheel or shifted. I was becoming lost in watching him. Watching him just drive was enough to satisfy me. I didn’t know what he was doing to me, but he was doing it really well.

  “So, what are we doing, Erik?” I asked as I watched him turn the corner.

  “We’re getting to know each other, Kelli. We’re beginning a relationship that will consist of a friendship with sex, but no commitment on either of our parts to be in love with the other person. In this relationship, sexually speaking, I will be dominant and you will be submissive. And Kelli, I will fuck you within an inch of your respective life.” He turned and smiled as he said the last part.

  His smile and the direct gaze in my direction lingered for a long moment. I began to feel hot. I started to feel an aching in my groin, and I quickly remembered that I was not wearing panties. I started to daydream about having him force me to my knees and talking dirty to me.

  “So, uhmm, what was the deal with the questions?” I asked, turning to him to see his expression.

  “Which questions, Kelli?”

  “Well, let’s go with the grapefruit and stuff first,” I responded.

  As he sped up through the traffic, he began to speak. “Those, Kelli were just a series of questions I asked you to allow me to understand about what type of person you are without spending a month or two doing so. Believe it or not, they tell me a lot about who you are, not so much what you are.”

  “The chop sticks. That question tells me whether or not you’re a person that has determination. Whether or not you stick to things and apply yourself, or if you give up and or get bored easy. Most white people are not born with the need to use them, and if they develop a means of doing so, it is because they decided to master the task, and spent the time and effort to do so. If they have mastered it, it means that they’re determined. If they can’t it doesn’t mean they aren’t, but it may. Understand?” He turned to me as he asked the question.

  “Yes sir.” The word ‘sir’ just came out so naturally. I didn’t even realize I said it until after it rolled off my tongue. It made me a little uncomfortable knowing and seeing the power this man was going to have over me.

  “The grapefruit question. If you haven’t ever eaten one, it wouldn’t mean anything necessarily. This question lets me know if you’re naturally willing to eat something that most people find repulsive. Grapefruits taste sour. They’re somewhat bitter. People that eat them generally eat them because they know that they’re good for them, or because they want to be in good health. It tells me if you’re someone that is willing to, in a sense, make sacrifices for the betterment of yourself. Make sense?” he asked, as he turned toward the parking lot of an outdoor strip center.

  I nodded, very intrigued by Erik’s deep mental nature. The fact that he was so much different than anyone else I had ever been around made me want to know so much more about him. He actually thought about what he said and what he was doing instead of just doing and saying things for the sake of doing them. I had never been so intrigued by anyone. I had never wanted to just open someone up and see all that they had to offer as much as I wanted to do with him, regardless of the amount of time that I had been with them. I had been around Erik for two days, and I wanted to spend whatever amount of time was required to get to know him. As I stared at him in admiration, he began to speak again.

  “The last
question was more obvious. The interracial dating, and with an African American man, let me explain. Most of society, right or wrong, perceives a black man with a white woman as being wrong. I am not saying that it is, I am merely saying that’s the general public’s view. So knowing this, if a white girl has gone on, or will consider going on, a date with a black man shows me, or tells me, that she is open-minded. That she will, regardless of what society thinks, go with what she feels in her heart. That she is open-minded. That she is not easily swayed or convinced to do what society wishes that she do. She is an individual. Understand, Kelli?” he asked as he parked the car in the lot.

  I looked around to see for sure where he had taken us to. I had been staring at him during the entire trip and was not certain of where we ended up. I quickly recognized that he had driven to Bradley Fair, which was an open shopping and eating environment that had several nice restaurants and a lake with a walking path. I was surprised that we had arrived here so soon. I felt as if I was in some form of a trance during the trip, because I hadn’t really noticed that we had traveled the ten miles or so to get here from downtown. I was so intrigued by Erik that I had lost all track of time.

  “Yes, I understand. I find you to be quite interesting, Erik,” I said as I reached for the door handle.

  I found myself, when talking to him, to be more conscious of my words, more conscious of how I said things. Not necessarily what I was saying, but how I said it. He was intelligent, very intelligent, but he did not act like it. He dressed like a younger guy, rode a motorcycle, and tried to speak like he was just one of many men in this city. By just naturally being Erik, he reeked of his intelligence. I felt like such an idiot around him. I tried to choose my words carefully so as not to embarrass him or me. This was so unlike me. I was almost always the smartest person in the room and always the smartest girl. Around him, I felt so small, so vulnerable.

  I opened the door and got out. He got out at the same time and leaned over the top of the car, looking at me. As he smiled, I noticed that his face had become more tan, probably from the motorcycle ride all day. His skin was tan, but lacked wrinkles. His face was just like he was; rugged, handsome, intriguing, and gorgeous. I could stare at this guy from now until the end of time.

  “Well, what did you decide?” he asked in a raised tone of voice.

  “Uhhm, excuse me? About what?” I responded.

  “I asked you where you preferred to eat. You stared at me and didn’t respond.”

  “Oh, I am sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. Or something, I, uhmm, didn’t hear you.” I couldn’t even believe I said that. I sounded like a fool.

  “Ok, I will decide,” he said, as he turned and scanned the horizon of buildings.

  “Il Vicino. How does that sound?” he asked, motioning to the Italian restaurant in the corner of the parking lot.

  “Sounds great. I love that place.”

  I walked around his side of the car, toward the restaurant. As I got closer to him, he extended his arm and placed his hand in front of his belt, positioning his elbow out, away from his body.

  “Hold onto my arm, Kelli. Walk beside me, holding my arm. Always walk on my left side and always hold my arm, understand?” he said as he looked over his shoulder at me.

  I walked to his left side and wrapped my right arm through his extended arm. As we walked side by side toward the restaurant, I felt warmth, a certain comfort that I have never felt. I felt like he had me here, positioned beside him, to protect me. To make sure that I was comfortable with him, and that I knew he was not only in charge but that he wanted everyone else to know it. I was falling for this guy and I was falling fast.

  He had told me not quite twelve hours ago that he was going to own me. He may or may not know it, but he already did. He could tell me to do anything, right now, and I would do it. All of those questions that he asked me in that long email; I would do every one of them right now. This guy had a certain presence about him, a certain power. He didn’t express it, he wasn’t pushy or arrogant, but I would do whatever he wanted.

  Pleasing him would make me so happy. As we walked toward the restaurant, I began to wonder if I could actually please him. What if I couldn’t? What if I tried as hard as I could, and he laughed at me? What if he told me I wasn’t even good enough to be his fuck-buddy? The thought of that began to make me feel ridiculously uncomfortable. As I stumbled over a hole in the parking lot, I realized that we were at the entrance of the restaurant.

  “You alright?” he asked.

  “Yes, I didn’t see the hole in the lot, sorry,” I smiled as I responded. Walking through the entrance, I smelled him again. The smell made my mouth water. The smell made me want to please him.

  “You’ve been here before?” he asked me, nodding toward the menu.

  “Yes, several times.”

  “Well, Kelli, do you know what you want?”

  Looking over the menu, I decided to get the Cobb salad. It was a great salad.

  “Yes, I do,” I responded.

  The restaurant was a fairly nice Italian restaurant; but the format for it was unique. There was a menu at the entrance, and a cashier at a bar. You ordered at the cashier, went to your table, and they delivered your food when it was ready. After you initially ordered your food, it was like any other restaurant, with wait staff to assist you. We stepped to the cashier to order our food.

  “Go ahead, Kelli,” Erik said as we stepped to the bar.

  “No, you go ahead, I am thinking.” I had no idea why I said that, but I did.

  “I will have the Cobb salad,” Erik said, “and a glass of tea.”

  Shit. Now, if I ordered the salad, it would look like I was copying Erik. I didn’t want him to think I wasn’t an individual, especially after all of the questions that he had asked me. Damn it, I really wanted that salad. I stood there and thought, trying to decide what to do.

  “Kelli?” he said as he turned and looked at me.

  “Uhhm. I will, uhmmm, have the lasagna,” I said, not even thinking. Surely they sold lasagna; it was an Italian restaurant, after all.

  “And a glass of water,” I added.

  Erik paid for the food, and we walked to the outside seating area. Watching him walk was hypnotic. He had a very mechanical walk, as if he were programmed to do it. He stood very erect and moved his arms a little bit, but not too much. He looked straight ahead, but his eyes were attentive to all of the things around him. I enjoyed watching him walk. I daydreamed about watching him walk the length of the parking lot.

  The outside seating area consisted of a patio that was surrounded by a stone fence, and trees, open to the outside and sky. A sidewalk separated the seating area from the parking lot. As we picked our table and I began to sit, he pulled my chair out from the table for me.

  “Thank you,” I said. He nodded at me and sat down. As he sat down, he placed the receipt for the food at the center of the table. I noticed that he had folded it into a neat square.

  “What do you want to talk about?” I asked. Immediately after I asked the question, I felt stupid. I felt it was kind of sophomoric of me.

  “You choose, Kelli,” he responded.

  I thought about what we could discuss. I didn’t want to talk. I wanted to eat and fuck. I didn’t even want to eat, I just wanted to fuck. I wanted to show Erik what I was able to do, sexually, and hopefully blow his mind. Making him happy and pleasing him more than he had ever been pleased was at the forefront of my list of things to accomplish today. I decided there was a subject we could talk about, if he would. I decided to try again.

  “What about that long text you sent me, the one with all of the sexual questions? What was all of that about? More psycho-babble stuff?”

  “Well, let me ask you this first, Kelli. How did reading the questions make you feel, as a whole?” he responded.

  I thought about how to respond. I didn’t want him to think I was some weirdo, but I did want him to know I was a sexual freak. I decided to be totally hone
st, let him know what I thought, and how they made me feel, and have him decide what was wrong with me.

  “Every one of them turned me on. They made me think, and they made me horny. I answered ‘turn-on’ to all of them, mentally. And, the more I thought about them, the more I wanted you to be with me, so we could be doing all of those things,” I answered as I crossed my legs.

  I thought about it after I had responded and realized that he didn’t say that he wanted to do those things, he was just trying to decide what type of person I was, probably sexually. I really needed to start thinking before I spoke.

  “That is interesting, Kelli. Every one?” he asked, removing his hand from holding his chin, gesturing toward me with his open palm.

  “Yes…every one of them, Erik. I do not know how you selected those questions, or what they may mean to you, but each one of them not only sounded exciting, but also made me very comfortable with what you might want me to do. Are all of them a turn-on or a turn-off for you?”

  I decided to try to use his name more when I spoke to him. He did it to me all the time, completing sentences with my name, or preceding a thought or a sentence with my name. I liked it. I liked it a lot. So, maybe if I did it to him, he would like it as much as I did. I crossed my legs the other direction as I waited for his answer.

  “They’re all a turn-on for me, Kelli, especially if they’re a turn-on for you. Contrary to what you or anyone for that matter thinks about ‘dominant males’, I am probably different from that common stereotype. I want, ultimately, to please you. Making you happy makes me happy.” He paused, took a breath and started speaking again.