[This is the conclusion of a four-part story. Eventually, you will be able to re-read all the episodes by searching through our AFF Magazine archive. But for now, if you missed the first three episodes of "A Case of Date ," here's where we left off:]

"Bore me?" she said. "You don't want to bore me?"

"Well, not if I can help it," he said. He gave her an intense look that she couldn't read at all. As she held him there against the wall, she realized she was doing things from her fantasy. But they felt in no way the same. She pressed him there, by his chest, feeling spurned and then boldly, she moved one hand to his neck, the other to his crotch, just to see what he would do. Not to enjoy, to see how far she could push him.

He closed his eyes. In a good way or a bad way, she didn't know. Her lower hand felt something stir.

"Lift your arms," she said. "I'm going to you."

[And Now for the conclusion:]


It was out of her mouth before she thought twice. She didn't know why she had said it. It was just one of those wild things you say when you're all in a heat. And oddly she felt vulnerable. So, so vulnerable.

But in the middle of her dread, an exciting, thrilling dread, Marco reached his arms up, sweeping out the shape of angel wings along the wall. Slowly, slowly. As if she had a gun that might go off if he startled her.

With one hand still pressed against his neck, she felt the tiny beat of his life. And at his crotch, another beat; its message was growing with clarity. Suddenly, she was a burst of hands, all over him. They rushed under his sweater; they unfastened the belt and button at his waist; they pinched his nipples and pulled on the tiny hairs of his chest. They pressed his belly, fingered his navel, ripped open his fly and pulled his pants a little ways down his hips, but she didn't expose him. She had felt him growing, but she could see he wasn't full-standing hard. She could not read his face. He kept his eyes closed. She knew some part of him was excited. But she had no sureness. Just a need to keep going. To see where it led. To see what she could do.

She pushed the shirt up, pulled it up around his head. "Stay there like that," she said.

"Like this?"

"Yeah."

He stayed.

She dove on him wet and sloppy, kissing his nipples, licking his chest, biting his hairs. With her hands she tugged the hair under his arms. Then followed with her tongue, which slithered from his nipple to the thin, sensitive skin just beyond the hairline of his underarm. He jerked suddenly and gasped. She watched his stomach suck in. Her right hand on his hip, beneath the band of his underwear --cotton briefs she could feel -- free hand pulling the sweater up, over his other arm, over his head, she pressed her whole body against him, one leg between his legs, daring him to resist. As she ran her tongue between each rib, down and up, and over to the soft tissue around his nipple where her little laps became soft kisses, all the resistive tension in his body let go.
She pulled on his pants until they let go of his hips, sank down his legs, and dropped to the floor. She backed up and stared at the glisten of her saliva on his chest. The rich, brown circles around his nipples, sprigged with black hair, made her hungry. She enjoyed just looking at him there. His black briefs, stirring, and him, half-naked, out of costume. She knew that whatever he was feeling, he was going to let her do this.

She pulled the neckline of her dress down until her breasts rose out of it and she smothered them into him. She loved feeling his skin, bumps and nodes and all. She loved how her breasts flattened and how his strong chest was there to take them. She crowded him, pubis to pubis. She pushed his face to the side so she could kiss his neck. And she did, wet, all up and down. And then her kisses grew to become little bites. And he moaned.

Soon, she could feel his full hardness, and she invaded his briefs with a hand moist from excitement. He said nothing, but took everything. And she swept over him like a force of nature.

When it was over, she felt odd. Yes, he had come. After she had. No, he had not rushed and pushed and thrusted all frantically. Instead, it felt like she'd had to draw it out of him, almost against his will. How weird was that? As her mind played back the memory, she remembered how her feelings had teetered between powerful control and frightening excess. And now she sat, wondering what it all might come to mean between them. He hadn't spoken, yet. Hadn't made a sound since she sat on top of him, rocking hard, holding his hands down at his sides into the thick rug, and he came.

He was curled up on the rug when she got up and went to find a robe. He was curled up in the same position when she came back. This put her on edge, him lying there like a toy she had broken.

She sat down, but on the couch.

He didn't move. He remained curled up at her feet.

"Well," she said. She waited.

And waited.

"That was interesting," he finally answered.

"Interesting," she repeated.

"Yeah."

He gave a long slow exhalation. "God, that was powerful."

"In a good way?"

"Oh, yeah," he said. "Yeah."

She could feel her body easing, and she allowed herself to relax for the first time since he turned down her invitation to come in.

"So were you just putting on an act, pretending to leave?"

"I wasn't pretending -- what makes you say that?"

"Why were you going to leave? Do you like your women to attack you?"

"You weren't attacking me. Were you?"

"Well..." She could feel herself flushing.

"You were pretty hot."

"I meant, like, do you always make the woman make the moves?"

"No. Not at all. I've always been the one to make the moves. And uh..."

"What?"

"It's like every time I broke up with someone -- not while it was happening, mind you, but when it was too late -- they'd always tell me I'd been doing all the wrong things in bed. I mean, from point A to point Z."

"Oh, well. Maybe that was just to hurt you."

"Maybe. Who knows. But I tell you what I decided. I decided that next time, I'm going to let the lady make the moves, see if things go any better."

She flushed -- he was thinking of her as relationship material.

"Yeah, but you wanted to leave," she persisted. "You weren't giving me a chance to make any moves."

"Hey, I thought I was putting you to sleep. I mean, you were spacing out, my jokes weren't impressing you. When you asked me to come in, I thought you were just trying to do the hostess thing -- to humor me and all that crap. I hate that."

"Humor you," she repeated.

"Well, yeah," he said, grinning. He raised himself up on one elbow, resting his neck in the palm of his hand.

"And when I pushed you against the wall?" she purred. He confidence was back.

"Yeah, that was a rush. I wanted to see where you were going with that."

She laughed.

"Did it feel like I was humoring you?" she asked him.

"No. It felt like you were taking charge," he said. "So do you like to rough up your men?" he asked.

"No!" she said feeling the heat at her neck. "I mean, like that's the first time I've ever done that."

"Could have fooled me."

OK, so she'd fantasized it. Again and again. But the way it went down … she felt a shiver that was deliciously evil.

"You didn't mind?" she asked.

"Hell no. I mean it was fun, right?"

"Oh, yeah," she said casually. But it had been awkward and demanding and a little frightening. "Yeah, once I knew you were into it."

"So next time, you'll know I'm into it," he smirked.

"Yeah."

Next time, she thought, playing this time over and over again in her head.