First Meeting by Anonymous

Her daughter graduated that year and left for college and, when he was at the bar getting drunk off whiskey, she packed her bags and left -- leaving it up to her attorney to have the divorce papers she'd filed sent his way.  He'd get them soon enough.  Her little Chevy Cavalier didn't hold much... but the trunk and back seat were full and the radio was on and she headed south.

They'd met online. The one who called her "Miss." It had actually been a year before and there really hadn't been anything sexually intimate about the relationship yet -- though he had sent her a birthday card when she'd turned 42 and also a gift certificate for e-books at Christmas. They'd been friends.  They'd talked about joys and sorrows and they'd shared their fetish dreams in so many words, though they'd never indulged in them together.

But it came as a surprise when she felt her heart hammer in her chest at the prospect of meeting him for coffee at Bricktown.

She pulled up in front of the hotel and a valet took her keys.  She was wearing one of her wine-colored gypsy skirts and a white of-the-shoulder 'poet shirt' and a long strand of beads (that slid over her breasts like a black ink waterfall).  He would be waiting for her at the restaurant. They'd agreed to this... and she felt the flutter of uncertainty in her stomach. For a moment she considered turning on her sandals, getting back in her car and heading out.

Then she heard someone call out, "Miss?" from the doorway.

He had seen her from the lobby and had come out to meet her; he came forward in a few long strides, took her bag with strong hands and smiled.  It was one of those boyish grins that said, "I saw you first".  She couldn't help but grin back. "You were supposed to be inside at the restaurant," she said suddenly.

"Miss: you would have chickened out," he replied with a soft grin.

That was probably true. She let him take her bag and she even placed one hand in the crook of his free elbow. He seemed genuinely pleased.  She looked up. He was bloody tall. She'd seen pictures, sure, but she'd not expected a one-foot height difference between them. Her diminutive five-foot frame was dwarfed as he stood next to her. Without much thought, she pinched the inside of his arm and repeated: "You were supposed to be inside the restaurant."  

He nodded, leaned down and whispered (just for her): "Miss, I was, but if it pleases, I did not want to miss our meeting. Punish me later if you so wish."

She felt the jolt of curiosity. They'd discussed such things in depth online.  Now an opportunity had presented itself. She smirked.  "Indeed... Carry my bag up to my room! I want to take a shower..."

[to be continued....]