A shivering passion

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How I met my daddy: The Date

I bit my bottom lip, feeling him pounding my insides. He was slow, but nonetheless rough. I knew from that he had just cummed. He moaned a little while taking his cock out of me.
“Are you alright?” He breathed out, smacking my butt lightly. I nodded. He undid the knot on my wrists and the cotton fell on the pillows. I stretched my shoulders, a little sore for balancing his and my own weight. We both sat in the middle of the mattress.
“This is your fat ass fault.” He smiled and kissed me on the cheek.
"Let me go to the bathroom a second.” I saw him exit the room and after some time, decided to follow him. We both freshened up, then returned to bed. It was around one o’clock of a newly born Sunday; neither of us wanted to sleep yet. We laid under the blankets with our legs intertwined. It was quite warm, but I didn’t mind; it felt just as right as the first time.
“Do you still remember the first time we’ve met?” I asked, looking for his hand.
“Of course. Do you?” I nodded and hugged him more tightly.

Seven months before

I was sitting at my desk, drawing swirls on my graphic tablet and erasing them instantly, frustrated. My mind was as blank as the white screen in front of me. I looked at the clock: thirteen to four p.m. I was running out of time. I would have had to stay awake all night to finish- nay, to start this project. I got up, making as much noise as possible with my chair.
I stomped all the way to my kitchen and threw a cupboard open. The top shelf was mine, the bottom one my roommate’s, who was shorter than me. She was gone for the weekend to visit her parents. It was strange being all alone in the flat, but at least I could shower for as long as I wanted. I put a mug filled with water in the microwave, and waited there, looking at the plate spinning, with a bag of instant coffee in my hands.
I sighted and went for the phone in the pocket of my gym shorts. I had silenced all the notifications and turned off the wi-fi, not to get distracted, but I figured that a quick look wouldn’t have harmed me. The phone rang, as all the backlogged notifications were arriving. It was mostly instagram: I had a profile to post my artworks and it was now getting a bit of recognition; with it, came the people asking for free paintings, that I quickly turned down.
I picked up the mug and stirred in a few teaspoons of coffee, answering comments and messages. I went to my room and collapsed on the bed, not before putting the coffee on the bedside table. The clock was now striking four. I looked at the computer, then at the window and the street outside of it, then at my phone, which I picked up.I opened tinder and went straight for the messages. It was fairly normal, full of conversations that went nowhere, creeps who would just ask for nudes and a guy that tried to scam me into a pyramid scheme. Maxwell Lynn, though, seemed a likeable guy. We had started chatting about a week ago; it had been a bit weird at the start, until I told him about my dogs, at which point something clicked. We had set up a date for today, at six p.m., but I wasn’t sure I could go.
“Hey!” I wrote. “It’s a bit out of the blue, but I might be late for the date today. Sorry.” followed by a sad face. I was almost sure I wasn’t going at all. Oh well, it’s not like he’s the last man on the planet. I thought. I sat back at my desk, slipping the phone back into my pocket. I would have loved to run in a green field for hours, away from all coursework, projects and duties. I needed to clear my mind and picked up the pen. Yes, a nice field, with flowers, a river, some cows and a snowy mountain in the background; a peak at the Alps. It wasn’t what I was supposed to do at all, but painting something I actually wanted to, might have helped me regain concentration. I created a new photoshop file and looked on youtube for disney film music.
About half an hour passed before I felt my phone vibrate. I silenced it again and was almost about to cut the wi-fi off, but I decided to answer the message. It was Maxwell.
“You’re not bailing on me, are you?” I hovered over the keyboard, about to write yes and that I was too busy to make it.I looked at the computer, then at the window and the sunny sky outside of it, then at my phone.
“I’m sorry for that. I had a problem with the sink, but my landlord has just fixed it. I’ll be there. Six p.m. sharp!” followed by a big smile.
I got up quickly and tossed the pen on my bed. It fell on the ground and, out of the corner of my eyes, I could see it rolling under the bed. I still had about an hour and a half to get ready and catch a bus to the city park.

It was about five past six when I arrived at the date location. Not exactly in time, but oh well, the traffic was horrendous. I had braided my hair on the side and put a little bit of eyeliner to make my eyes pop out. I had chosen to wear a lilac cotton dress and a pair of white sandals. It was quite warm, but I had nonetheless brought a leather jacket.
We had chosen to meet at a newly opened cafè near the city park. The avenue was lovely: various flower pots decorated both the inside and the outside. It was mostly white and modern, mixed with dark wood and even a red brick wall. I couldn’t see Maxwell at any of the outside tables, so I peeked inside, through a massive clean window. There was no one that looked like his tinder photos. I sat under a patio, in a comfy bamboo chair, thinking I might have gotten catfished. I had no new notifications. I sighted, looking around me. He was probably a bit late.
“Samira?” I heard someone say, while checking instagram. I turned around to see a young man. Blond hair, green eyes, some freckles on his nose and was at least ten centimetres taller than me, standing at around a metre and eighty-five. He was overall good looking and fit, wearing a shirt, light blue cotton trousers and loafers. I got up, smiling.
“Hi! Maxwell, I presume?” we shook hands.
“Exactly.” we sat down in front of each other. “Have you ordered?”
“Oh, no. I was waiting for you.”
“Have you been waiting long? I’m really sorry, the traffic was horrible today.”
“No, don’t worry, just a few minutes. I was late too.” I gestured to a waiter to come to our table.
“Fucking hell it’s hot today, innit?” he complained, rolling back his sleeves, exposing some well defined arms.
“It’s manageable with a skirt.”
“Should have thought about that. Let me just bust out the kilt.”
The waiter came: he ordered a coffee and a chocolate glazed doughnut, I chose black tea and a chocolate cake.
“So, how are you?” I asked, putting my phone in my purse.
“Pretty good, thanks. What about you?” He slipped his phone in a pocket.
“A little stressed because of university, but otherwise fine.”
“How come? Big test coming soon?”
“No, no. It’s not even the fault of the university, properly speaking, just a contest that it’s founding.”
“I’m so glad I’m done with school.” the waiter came again with our food; we both thanked him.
“Oh, yes, you mentioned you studied computer science. How’s that been going?” I took a sip of tea and decided to add more sugar.
“I’ve already graduated. I’m working IT now.” he took a bite of his doughnut. “I say IT, but the only thing I’ve been doing is turning computers on and off and explaining to an old lady why she can’t copy paste from a computer to another by unplugging and plugging the mouse.” I giggled. “And I’ve also changed the cartadries of a printer today. As you know, everyone who studied programming is perfect for fixing some kind of appliance.”
“Could you have a look at my microwave, then? It doesn’t warm the middle.” he frowned. “In all seriousness, it doesn’t sound like a great company to work at.”
“Eh, the people are cool and the pay is adequate. It’s fine for being my first job, as long as I don’t become a handyman, that is. Nonetheless, I’d prefer AI or software engineering. What about you?” I swallowed before answering
“I’m still in uni; this is my last year. I don’t know what I’ll do after, probably retail. You know, an art degree isn’t exactly the most useful.” he raised an eyebrow.
“My company is looking for some freelance artists for a new advertisement campaign. I’m sure there are a lot of opportunities in this market.” he drank his coffee. “I could hook you up: you do this now and they could hire you once you graduate.” I thought of the project back home.
“You’d do me a great favour. I could never thank you enough.”
I rolled a lock of hair around my fingers. He studied my arms and shoulders. I felt a little uncomfortable.
“Do you work out? I see you’re pretty well built.” he asked, when he understood I had noticed.
“I play volleyball and jog sometimes. I used to play it competitively in high school, but I haven’t got the time anymore. You? You’re in good shape too.” I gestured to his shoulders.
“Swimming. I’ve never done any race, it’s just for fun.” he pointed at his doughnut. “And to eat this stuff without regrets.” I smiled and we continued to chat.
To an outsider we were just two more voices in the cacophony of the city; I was already feeling cheerful with him. He asked for another doughnut, explaining that he had just gotten out of work and that he hadn’t eaten. Twenty more minutes passed until he wiped his hands on a tissue; they remained sticky.
“I’m going to wash my hands. Give me a minute.” he got up, looking for the bathroom. I arranged all the mugs and plates in a neat pile, then went to pay. He found me trying to put the credit card back into its plastic cover.
“You’ve paid for me too?” I nodded, walking outside. A waitress was cleaning up our table. I noticed him reaching for his wallet.
“How much was it?”
“Oh don’t worry, I don’t want them back.”
“Are you sure? It’s not a problem.”
“Ya, ya.” I stretched and yawned.
“I know it wasn’t planned, but would you like to go to the cinema?” My mind went to the graphic table screen, still sitting white and empty.
“What’s there to see?”
“A new marvel film has just come out, otherwise we can go and see what else there is.”
“Marvel it is. Have you got a car or should ve catch a bus?”
“I’ve got a car.”
I followed him to his white Citroën. I had a flash of my mother telling me not to go in strangers’ cars, but a more rational, and probably hornier, part of my brain, told me that such a good looking and pleasant guy could have not been a serial killer. We buckled our seat belts and drove off. The traffic had not died down, forcing him to stop every few minutes. He wasn’t going to waste that time boringly focusing on the road ahead and so I found him glancing at my legs every so often.

We arrived at the cinema five minutes before the start of the film. He paid for a large popcorn and the tickets. We both didn’t talk, during the show. The film wasn’t a masterpiece, quite the contrary in fact, and I was getting bored. He must have been of the same opinion, as I saw him checking his phone and yawning a few times. We went to buy some drinks during the halftime pause. There were a bunch of children running around the hall, waiting for a cartoon to start.
“Are you liking it?” I sat on a bench across the cashier desk, sipping my soda.
“Not really. It’s… It doesn’t make sense and the action scenes suck.”
One of the children was crying, running after another one and holding a plastic cup of coke. Behind them was a woman, shouting to stop. The girl being followed stopped in front of us: she had brown hair and was skinny. She was yelling about some toy, taunting the other boy, who was taller but also fatter. The fatter kid stopped, a few metres away from the skinny girl. He threw his drink at her. She dodged.
“I also don’t understand how, if he can make fire, let the other die of hypoth- Ahh! What the fuck!” Maxwell shouted, as the cup hit his face, covering him in soda. He looked around. The two children froze, staring at the mess they had made.
“Oh my God! I’m terribly sorry!” the mother rushed in front of us, handing him a packet of tissues. “You two, apologise now!”
“It doesn’t matter.” he mumbled, drying his face.
“Are you ok, miss?” the woman asked.
“I think I’ve gotten a few splashes on my dress, but it’s fine.” she apologised again, then picked up her children by their wrists, telling them that they were returning home.
“Are you ok?”
“Yes, but now my hair is sticky.” he brushed them back with his fingers. “I don’t want to be here anymore. The film sucks anyway. I’m sorry.”
“I live near this street, if you want to wash up” I proposed.
“You’d do me a great favour: I hate sticky things.”

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