Date Preparation
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It’s a muggy afternoon when Milly finally works up the courage to text Frank:
“Can we talk? There are things I need to say. And there are rules now.”
Frank’s answer is as direct as ever:
“Come by tonight. Let’s hear it.”
Just after sunset, Milly finds herself outside Frank’s apartment door, knuckles white around her phone. Her heart pounds as she knocks, almost hoping he won’t answer. But he does – standing there in a sleeveless undershirt, beer in hand, grinning in that way that’s half challenge, half invitation.
“You look nervous,” he teases, stepping aside. “Come in.”
She steps across the threshold, refusing to meet his eyes at first. The apartment is hot, thick with sweat and the blunt, lived-in smell of beer and old sheets. Milly stands in the middle of the living room, fingers tight on her purse.
Frank doesn’t bother to move from his spot on the sagging couch. “So. Rules?”
She nods, voice trembling but clear. “I talked to Tom. Everything is out in the open. If I’m going to keep seeing you, there have to be rules.” Her face burns as she speaks each word, but she doesn’t stop. “If we have sex, you use a condom. Always. I’ll tell Tom everything – what we do, what you say, how I feel. I won’t meet you unless Tom knows and says it’s okay. No pictures or videos unless Tom agrees. I always go home after. That’s it.”
Frank raises an eyebrow, then lets out a low laugh. “Works for me. As long as I get to see you.”
Milly finally looks up, a fragile, nervous smile breaking through. “Then… I guess we should set a date?”
He considers her for a moment, then grins, setting his beer down and moving closer, the air thickening between them. “Thursday. Evening. Four days from now. You come here after classes. No need to doll yourself up. I want you just as you are.”
Her breath catches, cheeks turning scarlet. “Okay. Thursday.”
Frank reaches out, brushing her arm – just a light touch, but it sparks all the way down her spine. “You sure you want this, Milly?”
She nods, trembling. “Yeah. I want this.”
“Good.” His smile is slow, satisfied. “Thursday, then.”
She leaves, knees wobbly, heart racing, equal parts relieved, mortified, and wildly excited. That night, she climbs into bed beside Tom and whispers everything – what she said, what Frank agreed to, and that their first real date is set.
Thursday evening. Four days to wait.
—
The day arrives hot and bright, the city shimmering in the kind of summer haze that soaks through walls and clothes, turning everything sticky. I spend all afternoon checking the clock, every tick a drumbeat in my chest – wondering if Milly is thinking of Frank in class, wondering how she’ll look when she comes home, how I’ll feel watching her leave again.
She’s late. When the door finally swings open, she bursts in with her backpack slung low, her hair a tangled halo of sweat and static, freckles standing out on flushed cheeks. Her tank top is damp at the back, the crotch of her jeans dark where she’s sweated through, her skin glowing with the city’s grime.
“God, I’m disgusting,” she groans, kicking off her shoes and standing with her legs spread, fanning her shirt. “I wanted to shave. I wanted to shower. I stink, Tom. And I’m already running late for him.”
It hits me then, all at once – the animal heat in the air, the leftover tension in her posture, the fact that she’s going to Frank like this. My throat dries out. Something primal turns over in my gut.
She reads it in my eyes, hesitates, her voice a little smaller, almost shy. “Maybe I should just text him and cancel. I didn’t want to go to him all messy, not the first time.”
I step toward her, my hand light on her hip. “Don’t,” I say, voice shaky but certain. “Let me clean you. Let me do it with my mouth.”
She laughs, a nervous, relieved little sound. “You’re crazy.” But she’s already peeling off her jeans, stepping out of her panties, baring that wild, sweat-darkened red bush, the insides of her thighs sticky and slick. She stands before me, blushing and uncertain, her whole body humming.
We move to the bed – no ceremony, just need. She climbs up, straddles my chest, and sits with her knees pinning my arms. I look up at her, her thighs trembling, her scent so thick I could drink it. She lowers herself over my face, tentatively at first, her pussy barely grazing my lips.
The smell is overwhelming, dizzying – raw, heady, the musk of sweat and fabric and hours of summer heat. There’s an echo of Frank there, sharp and sour, but it’s Milly’s: slightly sweet, more familiar, more intoxicating. I press my tongue up into her, lapping at the damp curls, finding the slickness underneath, licking her until she shudders.
She grips the headboard, moaning softly, letting her full weight settle. “God, Tom… this is so filthy. You really want to?”
I answer with my tongue, dragging it slowly up between her lips, circling her clit, then dipping lower, lower, licking everywhere – dirt, sweat, her secret taste. She’s shy, at first barely moving, but the longer I lick the more she lets herself open, hips rocking against my face, her blush deepening.
Between breaths, I gasp, “Let me clean you everywhere. Even your ass. For him.”
She hesitates. I can feel her tense above me. She looks down over her shoulder, uncertain, cheeks flushed deeper. “I’ve never… I mean, I don’t know if I’m into that.”
“Please. Just let me,” I beg, so desperate I can barely breathe.
After a moment, she nods, shifting her knees forward, arching her back, spreading herself open so that her puckered, sweaty asshole is right over my mouth. The smell is sharp, earthy, stronger than before – almost too much, but not enough to stop me. I lick her there, circling, then pressing my tongue flat to her, tasting sweat and salt and something forbidden, something that makes my cock leak against my belly.
I’m so hard I’m dizzy. I rub myself with my free hand, licking her, cleaning her, wanting her perfect for Frank, wanting to be a part of what’s about to happen to her. I lick her ass, tongue working, eyes shut, and then I come – hard, helpless, spurting onto my stomach, hips jerking up off the bed.
Milly feels it. She glances back, surprised, eyes bright with something wicked and new. “Did you just come?”
I nod, gasping for air, licking her clean until she finally pushes herself off me, sitting up on the edge of the bed. She wipes sweat from her brow, looking down at me with a kind of awe and hunger I’ve never seen before.
She stands, naked, glancing at the clock. “Shit. I need to go.”
She grabs her favorite dress – the pale blue one that hugs her hips, the hem barely covering her ass. No bra, no underwear. She smooths her hair, bites her lower lip, and turns to me at the door. I’m still on the bed, face and chin wet, stomach sticky.
She kisses me deep, her scent thick between us, then pulls away, breathless. “Wish me luck?”
I nod, voice caught in my throat. “Tell me everything after.”
She smiles, bright and sharp and new, and then she’s gone – her scent, her heat, everything she is lingering in the apartment long after the door clicks shut behind her.
I lie back, spent and trembling, knowing I’ll be haunted by her all night – wondering what Frank will do to her, what she’ll let him do, what she’ll want.
And already desperate for her to come home and tell me every dirty detail.