FEELS LIKE THE FIRST TIME

by Scott Hildreth

  “The thought of disappointing you makes me uncomfortable, extremely uncomfortable. Additionally, the thought of making you uncomfortable sexually, or in any way for that matter, makes me feel terrible. The one advantage I have over many men is that I have a great understanding of human nature. I know, for the most part, what it is that you want, need, and desire. Maybe more so than you do.” Erik stopped speaking as the waiter approached.

  “Water, tea?” the waiter asked. I raised my hand and mouthed the word water to the waiter.

  As the waiter walked away, I said, “So, pleasing me makes you happy? You want to…”

  “Kelli, stop.” Erik interrupted me in mid-sentence. “Stop speaking. Come and lean over here, Kelli,” he said as he leaned to the middle of the table.

  I leaned forward, wondering what I had done wrong. I hoped that I had not made him mad, that I had not disappointed him, or made him uneasy with my answers or my questions. When I leaned to the middle of the table, he moved my hair to the side and spoke into my ear. As he spoke, his breath went into my ear and made me shiver. When he did this, it made me feel weak and instantly made me want him.

  “Who, Kelli, owns you? Right now, right here, who owns you?” he asked.

  I felt a lump in my throat as I started to answer. I opened my mouth to answer, but the words came out as a whisper and a squeak.

  “You….you do. You do, sir.” The words were barely audible.

  “Kelli, who owns you?”

  As he asked again, he took the finger from his free hand and started sliding it back and forth across my right nipple. I felt as if I was being shocked. Oh my God, what was he doing to me? Whatever it was I loved it. I felt like I was going to vomit from being so excited. This was a degree of feeling and emotion that I had never felt before. He had me more excited by whispering these things in my ear than I had ever been by actually being physically intimate with a guy. He made me feel better sexually, by whispering things to me…these things, more so than any other man had made me feel by actually touching my flesh.

  “You do, Erik. I am yours. You own me.” I leaned my head to one side and looked up into his steel blue eyes as I answered.

  I had no more than made eye contact when he slid his hand from beside my face, and held my hair, to the base of my neck. Cradling my neck in his hand, he squeezed my neck and turned my head back to where it was. Continuing to hold my neck in his hand, he began to talk again, softly whispering into my ear.

  “That’s a good girl. Yes, I do. I own you. You’re making me proud of you with your answers, Kelli,” he responded. His mouth was almost about to touch my ear. His warm breath against my ear and neck made me shiver again. Although it was eighty degrees outside, I felt goose bumps rise on my arms and legs.

  “Now, Kelli, what are you going to do when I ask you to do something? Something sexual? What are you going to do?” he asked.

  Each time he spoke, his hand tightened on my neck slightly. When he was done speaking, he would release my neck from his grasp and cradle it in his hand.

  “Do it, without hesitation. Do it,” I said. The words came out of my mouth immediately. They actually came off of my tongue before I even thought about it. He was amazing at getting into my mind. I crossed my legs the other direction again. As I did, I could feel myself running down my leg and down the crack of my ass. I was so wet that it was running down my legs. I re-crossed my legs, and as I did, I actually heard the wetness. I hoped that he hadn’t heard it. This was embarrassing. I felt as if I was putty in his hands as his grip loosened from my neck.

  “Continue,” he said, and leaned back into his chair.

  I didn’t want this to end. This was better than sex. Oh. My. God. No, come back; squeeze my neck, whisper in my ear. How could he do that? How could he, in the middle of this, just stop and lean back into his chair? This was more than I could take. Naturally, I crossed my legs again, trying to become comfortable. I heard the squishing sound of my wetness and felt it running down my legs. Oh shit, I was wearing a dress. I was going to have a wet spot.

  “Hold that thought, Erik. I have to use the bathroom,” I said as I stood.

  I walked inside and made my way to the bathroom, feeling as if I had spilled something all over my lap. I grabbed a handful of paper towels from the dispenser and went into one of the stalls. Standing in front of the toilet, I propped one of my feet onto the rim of the toilet and the other on the floor. I lifted my dress up and tried to wipe up the mess with the paper towels. It felt as if I was wiping with sandpaper. I looked at the moist towels and strangely felt somewhat satisfied. I tossed them into the toilet, grabbed a handful of toilet paper and attempted to wipe up the remaining mess. The toilet paper broke into pieces and rolled into little wet balls on my thighs and ass. This. Was. Ridiculous. I grabbed another handful and dabbed against myself until it was dry. I opened the stall door and began to walk back outside, feeling both embarrassed and satisfied at the same time.

  As I walked through the door, exiting the inner restaurant and entering the outside area, I started to walk past a table of guys my age. My nipples were still so hard that it almost hurt. My period was way too close. Hopefully Erik and I could have some crazy sex before it started. As I walked past, I heard one say, “Look at that bitch. I’d fuck the shit out of her. Sexy whore. Dude, look.” And I saw him nod his head my direction. I walked past, acting like I didn’t hear them. Just like being in a bar, people have no respect for women. Thinking it is one thing, but saying it, especially where someone can hear? That’s so far beyond inconsiderate. I stepped to the table and sat down. When I did, Erik looked a little uneasy.

  “My turn now, will you excuse me for a moment? I must go to the restroom,” he asked.

  “Sure.”

  He stood, and walked toward the door. As he did, my eyes followed him. His walk, his stride, his gait or swagger; whatever people call it. It was such a turn-on just to see him walk. I got lost in just watching him walk away from the table. When he was almost to the door he stopped at the table of boys, leaned down, placed his hands on the table, and started whispering something. His whisper was harsh, but quiet, like he intended only for the boys to hear and no one else. I strained to hear what he was saying.

  “Listen to me, you little fucks. I heard every word you said about her when she walked by. I am going to let you slide, one time, this one time. Maybe you didn’t realize she was with me…..”

  The waiter appeared and Erik stopped speaking and smiled at the waiter. I acted like I wasn’t paying attention. As the waiter placed our food on the table, Erik was speaking again, but I couldn’t hear the conversation. When the waiter walked away, I turned my ear back to the table of boys, and caught the end of this whispered one-sided conversation.

  “…and you’ll regret it for as long as you live. Do you understand me? I asked you both a god damned question, now fucking answer me…”

  The boys both looked up at Erik, and nodded. At the same time that they nodded, I heard them say, “Yes.” Erik then extended his right hand to each of them, and with a puzzled look on their faces, they both shook his hand. Erik lifted his other hand from the table, stood upright, and walked through the door into the building.

  As he walked inside, I noticed my hand was covering my mouth the entire time he was talking to the rude boys. I moved it, and as I did, I could smell his cologne on my hand. I thought of what he said to those boys at the table that were talking about me, and it turned me on. I smelled my hand again. I felt the goose bumps rise in my arms.

  And I began to drip.

  Chapter 6

  ERIK. In the past, the females who I had spent time with were women that I could initially see myself with for a matter of months at best. Often, they would last a few weeks to a month. Generally, it was several weeks or months before I would ever commit mentally or physically to have sex with someone. They had to convince me, through their expressed thoughts and their actions that they were capable of being in a relationship with
me that was not emotional, and be capable of having sex. The thought of having someone fall in love, and then, when the relationship ended, having them mentally, physically, or spiritually hurt by the relationship ending was not something that I wanted to have to wonder about.

  It was a strange balancing act for both parties. I knew enough about myself to know that when I felt as if someone was different, and that I was developing some form of feeling of necessity for them, I would force myself to let them go. This had not happened with any degree of frequency, possibly two or three times in my adult life, but it had happened.

  Knowing that any day you may be dismissed from a relationship was not a comforting feeling to most women. Some women, when I explained to them my requirements for a relationship, would just tell me that I was insane, and end it before it ever started. Most swore they were capable, and after a few months, would admit that they had fallen in love and that they couldn’t imagine a moment without me. Always, when I learned that this type of feeling existed, I would have to end the relationship.

  Typically, after one of these types of endings, it may be a year before I would commit to try again. Each time, the woman that I chose to be with would be the same age as the last, if not younger. I continued to grow older, while my sexual partners grew younger. The age gap continued to be more of a gap as time passed.

  Regarding my sexual advances, I had begun to be more aggressive with Kelli than most women. Typically, I would not ask the questions that I had asked until a few weeks had passed. I would not have done what I did in the Italian restaurant until we had seen each other for a matter of weeks, or possibly even a month. I wanted her to either fail, or to succeed, but with her, I wanted the answer immediately. For some reason, this girl was different to me. I felt that the sex with her could be emotionally charged without the actual emotion.

  As the sun was starting to set, I drove east toward the theatre. As Kelli sat quietly, I turned the music up a little louder with the steering wheel mounted controls. The Black Keys, Sinister Kid played over the stereo. As I was beginning to enjoy the music and thinking of what it would take to break Kelli, she spoke.

  “I like this music, who is it?”

  “The Black Keys,” I responded.

  She nodded and went back to being quiet. Tapping her fingers on her knee, she gazed at the road ahead as if she had no care in the world where we ended up. She was as attractive of a woman as I had ever seen, and her personality was a definite ten out of ten, so far. At some point I would reveal a flaw or series of flaws, but so far she was full of pleasant surprises. As I turned into the entrance of the theatre, she spoke again.

  “Uhhm, we’re going to the movies? Really? Is this a joke?”

  “No, Kelli, it isn’t a joke. I thought it would give us time and the ability to relax before we go to some of the clubs in Old Town. Is it going to become a problem?” I responded softly, but sternly.

  “No sir. It is not a problem, I am sorry,” she said quietly and apologetically.

  I parked the car at the rear of the lot and got out to walk around to her side of the car. As I was walking to her side of the car, she began to open the door. I finished opening it for her and stood at the rear of the car, waiting. She got out of the car and started slowly walking toward the theatre. I turned to face the theatre, placed my hand on my belt, extended my elbow to the side, and spoke in a sharp tone.

  “Kelli, who are you going in the theatre with?”

  As soon as she heard the tone of my voice, she stopped walking. She turned and looked back at me, maybe five or six steps beyond me. As soon as she made eyes contact with me, she ran toward me and responded as she ran.

  “You, Erik.”

  “Act like it, Kelli. Act like it. On my left, each time, understand?”

  “Yes sir,” she said as she extended her arm through mine.

  As we walked toward the theatre, she inched closer and closer to me, brushing against me each time we walked between the cars in the lot.

  “Why did you park so far away from the door?” she turned and asked.

  “Well, Kelli, I take care of my things. Be it a car, my motorcycle, my mind, my body, or you. Things that are important to me, I take precautions to preserve them. I parked far away so no one will park beside me and open their door into my car, denting it. When I get rid of that car in a year or so, it will look like it did the day I bought it.”

  “I see, that’s good to know,” she said in a supportive tone.

  We walked up the steps into the theatre, and I opened the door for her. Her hair looked almost blue in the fluorescent lighting from the parking lot. Long, black, and straight, I smelled her hair products as she entered the building. Passing through the entrance, I smiled as she gripped my arm tightly. We walked to the ticket counter and chose an open line.

  “Two for White House Down,” I said to the young man at the counter.

  “Twenty one dollars,” he responded.

  After handing him the money, we turned to walk toward the concession and restroom area.

  “Do you want anything?” I asked, motioning to the counter.

  “No thank you,” she said as she shook her head and smiled.

  We walked to the counter, arm in arm, and I ordered two bottles of water and paid the concession clerk. I handed her a bottle of water, and we walked toward the front of the theatre.

  “White House Down, theatre number nineteen, second on the left,” the kid said as he tore the tickets in two, handing me half of the tickets back. I started folding the movie tickets in my hands as we walked the second theatre on the left.

  “Can I have those?” Kelli asked.

  “Have what?”

  “The tickets, I collect movie tickets,” she said.

  Puzzled, I handed her the tickets. She placed them in her purse and walked beside me into the theatre. It was dimly lit and about ten minutes before the movie was to begin. We walked to the left side of the auditorium and stopped at an aisle that was empty.

  “You go first, Kelli, I prefer that you sit on my left,” I said as I motioned to the aisle.

  Smiling and without speaking, she slid into her seat in the middle of the aisle. I sat beside her and placed my water in the cup holder in the armrest on my right. I glanced at Kelli, who was looking around the theatre, as if she were doing an inventory of all the patrons. The shadows on her face in the dimly lit theatre presented her face in a different beauty. She was a gorgeous but very simple woman.

  The women that I had been exposed to in the past had provided me with useful real-world data regarding personalities, preferences, character traits, and character defects. Typically, the women that were more outspoken, personality rich and vibrant were submissive to a degree, but a much lesser degree than a reserved, quiet woman. An intelligent woman that was reserved, slow to ask questions but quick to answer them - was typically a much more naturally submissive woman.

  Submissive women fell into two categories, submissive by choice and submissive by nature. Naturally submissive women were my preference. They were, however, more difficult to find. Women that were submissive by choice were the most common and preferred to be in sexually submissive roles. A naturally submissive woman actually needed to be in a submissive role to feel as if she were living a useful life.

  The availability of a naturally submissive woman was nil for women my age and almost non-existent at any age. The naturally submissive woman was recognized by a dominant male early in life, and typically would end up in a committed relationship while young. A relationship, regardless of the quality, that would last forever.

  Statistically speaking, women who were naturally submissive were in relationships and many of these relationships were abusive. The abusive male in the relationship was not only dominant, but controlling, and abusive. The women in these types of relationships were mentally beaten down to a point that they lacked any level of self-esteem and were reliant upon the dominant abusive male to feel as if they were capable of sur
viving. Regardless of the level of abuse, the female would stay in the relationship, convinced that they would never be able to find anyone else that would love them. Over time, the pattern of behavior from the abusive male would be far more abusive and far less loving.

  The typical female in this type of abusive relationship would stay, convinced that she would never be able to find anyone else that would even accept her as a partner. Convinced that the alternative consisted of living a life alone, the female stayed with their abusive male partner. Physical abuse was common in these types of relationships.

  The public perception of the dominant male in a D/s relationship was that he was abusive. Abuse and dominance, in the public eye, were hand-in-hand. In an actual D/s relationship, nothing could be further from the truth. Mental or physical abuse was something that I didn’t tolerate. I often wondered if my non-committal position regarding relationships was in some respect…abusive.

  “Channing Tatum is cute, he reminds me of you, Erik,” Kelli said as the lights dimmed.

  “How so?” I responded.

  “Well, you’re built the same, you have the same features, and your hair is about the same length. You’re just a little more serious than he is, but you could almost be his double,” she answered as she offered me a smile.

  “Well, thank you, I suppose.”

  She smiled, and placed her water bottle in the arm rest between us.

  “Put that in the arm rest on your left, Kelli. I am going to eventually fold this arm rest up,” I said as I pointed to Kelli’s left.

  “Oh, I didn’t know they moved,” she said as she moved her bottle of water to the arm rest on her left.

  I immediately pushed the arm rest up between the two seats. The previews were beginning, and Kelli was looking at the screen intently. I placed my left hand on top of her right hand, which was resting on her right knee. Her hand curled slightly as I cupped her hand in mine. Rubbing her hand and wrist, I moved her hand to my left thigh and pressed it onto my leg slightly.