The First Man to See Me Undressed—Part I

I’m flanked by a group of comedians at the bar. It’s no surprise we’re making each other laugh.

The alpha of the group- tall, strong, masculine and effortlessly handsome and based out of NYC—just bought a round for everyone.

The group also includes: two guys from the local circuit; balding, overweight, and hugely overestimating how funny they are; a Toronto comic who is a seasoned pro, a queer standup from Prince Edward Island who needs a haircut but is sidesplittingly funny, she’s wearing a vest, really leaning into the Ellen Degeneres look, and me.

I’d been getting some heat lately, momentum. And it felt good. I’d performed that night and I was still feeling the high of the applause breaks and laughs.

A group of guys walk in. One stands out. Tall. Dark eyes. Loud, floral shirt.

We lock eyes immediately. It’s a stand-off for who will look away first.

I finally do, but when I drift back his eyes are still on me, a corner smile punctuated by a dimple.

It’s on.

I—hopelessly—try to ignore him.

I listen to the other comic swap stories about their worst hecklers.

He appears beside me at the bar. He orders a round for his friends. I am acutely aware of the space separating us.

“I like your style,” he says, looking me up and down, taking in my black dress and all that comes with it.

“Same,” I say. It feels like my pupils must have taken on the shape of hearts. There is no denying I want him.

Up close he is (somehow?) even more handsome. There’s a slight curl to his hair. A playful twinkle in his dark eyes. His skin is tanned and dotted with beauty-mark style moles. Full lips.

We abandon our respective friends. The conversation is good, easy, flirty.

His hand, big, strong, finds my lower back. The hair stands up on the back of my neck. I feel a pulse between my thighs. He leans down, he’s over six feet and towers over me, whispering in my ear, “Does that feel good?”

I lean into his ear, lips grazing his earlobe, “You have no idea.”

“That’s kind of my spot,” I tell him, playing with the collar of his shirt.

He leans in closer, full lips teasing my earlobe, bass-y voice sending chills through me, “Mmm, I thought so.”

—

We can’t get enough of each other. It’s instant chemistry. I’ve got an appetite for him that feels insatiable. It’s mutual.

His hands become more and more bold. My thigh. Upper thigh. Collarbone.

“I think I need to have you,” he says casually.

He takes my hand and leads me out of the bar.

This is crazy, I think. I’ve only ever been with women. I have never been attracted to a man like this. I’ve never wanted a man, let alone wanted one this badly. It’s like a hunger I never knew I had. And now that I feel it I’m craving. Starving. This is crazy.

We find ourselves in an alleyway turned urban garden. Dim pink and yellow twinkle lights wink above. Blossoms pour out of flower boxes, framing benches.

We stand amongst this, his hands in my hair, my hands on his hip bones. We kiss.

Fuck. He’s a good kisser. The chemistry didn’t lie. He feels amazing. Tastes amazing. It only makes me want him more.

I lead him to a bench. He sits down and I straddle him. I can feel my pussy getting wet with anticipation for him.

“My god, you’re incredible,” he tells me, in a barley-audible-whisper that tingles on my lips.

His hands explore my ass, he tries to slide them under my dress. I pull them away. Behave, my eyes tell him.

“I want to have you right here,” he growls in my ear, my back arches at the thought.

He runs his hands over my dress, over my breasts.

“Mmm, they’re hard for me,” he can feel my nipples through my dress.

“Do you have a place we can go?”

“My sister is in town. Sorry. You?”

“Just home for the weekend. I’m at my parent's place.”

He kisses me, growls again, “I want you so badly.”

—

Aroused and defeated, we make our way back to the bar. As we reach the door, I’m struck by an idea.

“Come with me.”