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August 6, 2007 | by  | in Opinion |
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Lesbian Blind Dating

HER

I am really quite an old-fashioned sort of a girl, so I was looking forward to the pleasant prospect of an old-fashioned dinner date. Nobody goes on these sorts of dates anymore, which is a great shame! So, having dubbined up my best boots, I was ready for the challenge. Downstairs the bar was thronging with women, and I had trouble finding out where I was supposed to be amid the bustle. Soon enough, though, I was ushered to a candlelit nook. My date, and a little magic, would surely await.

I made a valiant attempt to do all things properly for my dinner partner and, to her credit, my companion was equal parts cute and charming. But as the conversation turned from French lessons to Freeganism, I sensed that I was not quite her cup of TVP. We got along sociably and even enthusiastically, but something in her tenure, or possibly the choice of a grey cardigan, should have alerted me that I had gone amiss. We were going to be just good friends, in the less euphemistic of senses.

My suspicions were confirmed by the arrival of the ponytail-sporting waiter. I detected a vaguely French accent, but his superciliousness led me to believe that he was Corsican. At the retreat of that Napoleonic arse, did I detect a wavering of my partner’s attention, a darting of her less than constant gaze?

I was left to ponder what I could possibly have done wrong as she left for the bathroom, no doubt to brush against the Imperial rump. Fortunately, there was some excellent salmon and a consoling cocktail to remind me that, above all, it is the company of such an evening that is worth far more than hopes of any concomitant poon.

And as for those of you who cry “We do not believe! This is not the Lothario we know!” …I can alas only lament, like Pushkin, “Where have you gone, blissful days of my youth?”

HER

As I walked into the upstairs bar of the Establishment, I realised I had no reason to ask the staff where I was seated. I locked eyes with my date from across the room and instantly felt my heart race. We sat down, we ordered, got drinks, but it was all just postponing the inevitable moment when we succumbed to our lust.

I leaned closer across the table, staring into her eyes as her beautiful mouth moved in what I could only assume was speech, but I wasn’t able to focus on the words. I was hypnotised by her, the way she moved, the way she talked so eloquently and passionately, and her lustrous raven locks falling onto her shoulders, caressing her bare skin in a way that I could only dream of doing. Or so I thought, until I felt pressure on my thigh. I looked down, my heart rising in my throat as I saw her delicate slender hand resting there, pressing harder as she leaned in and whispered to me “Can you tell I’m packing?”

I looked at her crotch, and sure enough, there was a tell-tale strap-on bulge under her little black dress. I was impressed, a femme girl who wore a mini-dress, fishnet tights, high heels, AND an almost-concealed dildo. This was almost too good to be true. My thoughts on the sheer brilliance of this beautiful creature were interrupted as I felt her finger slyly sneaking up further, pushing my black lace panties to the side and touching my amazingly wet cunt. I ached for her to penetrate me. I couldn’t take it much longer.

Despite the funny look the waiter was giving us, I led her to the bathroom, where I pushed her against the wall, mounted her, and rode her strap-on till I reached the most amazing orgasm. It was then that we realised our bathroom tryst was a little obvious, and what’s more, our meals were getting cold.

However, when we returned to our table, I just couldn’t stop thinking about her body. She had removed her strap-on before leaving the bathroom, so as the waiter walked away I dove under the table. Any confusion she may have had about I was doing was soon gone as I started kissing my way up her leg. She moved slightly, revealing her lack of underwear, and I ate out her heavenly cunt, not once, not twice, but three times. She returned the favour, using me as dessert after her dessert, as we hid in a darkened corner of the dance floor. It was as if I’d died and gone to heaven, both of us feasting on each other’s bodies, in tune with each other in a whole new way.

A pretty good date, really. I enjoyed myself, and I must confess that Salient has never given me so many orgasms as it did last night. Thanks crew. Oh, and the food was pretty good, too.

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About the Author ()

Salient is a magazine. Salient is a website. Salient is an institution founded in 1938 to cater to the whim and fancy of students of Victoria University. We are partly funded by VUWSA and partly by gold bullion that was discovered under a pile of old Salients from the 40's. Salient welcomes your participation in debate on all the issues that we present to you, and if you're a student of Victoria University then you're more than welcome to drop in and have tea and scones with the contributors of this little rag in our little hideaway that overlooks Wellington.

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