I heard the gentle “clang” on the granite countertop as I carefully placed my wine glass down. He was walking toward me eagerly. I felt like we were in a game of chess, and I was trying to determine his next move.
This was our first-time meeting, and for some reason I invited him into my home without so much as even a dinner date. He was even more handsome than I had expected him to be. He was blonde… blue eyes, perfect smile. He was strikingly beautiful, yet he was no sort of my type. What did I even know about him, as he charismatically sauntered toward me? I knew he was separated, in the process of divorce. He was only married for exactly three months before he called it off. I knew he played hockey, and taught sixth grade. In this moment, though, it became very apparent that he was a complete stranger to me.
As he got closer, I felt his breath on my neck. My mind was racing with curiosity, nerves, and mostly, anticipation. His lips hadn’t even touched mine by the time he had hoisted me up onto the kitchen countertop and peeled off my baggy tee, exposing my red laced bra. I wrapped my legs around his hips and pulled him closer. His kisses were unfamiliar, soaked with the faint taste of Pinot Noir. I impatiently unbuttoned his shirt — revealing his equally beautiful body… fit just for the rest of him. The house was dim, his muscles only lit by the flame of my candles. We stayed here, kissing hard for only a few seconds before he made his next move.
He coaxed my body to lay parallel with the counter, as he slid my pants off quickly. I was exposed and cold on the stone. To my surprise, as a risky act of haste and necessity, he climbed his way up onto the countertop as well. The wine glass fell to the floor, clashing as the glass shattered. He was unfazed by the hard surface and the engulfing scent of wine as he entered me, slipping my panties to the side. I drew in a sharp breath simultaneously as I drew in the rest of him. Check Mate.
We continued there before we surrendered to the painful (and painfully sexy) ache of the granite. He took my hand and effortlessly guided me towards the stairs, where I took the lead in the house that only I knew. When we got to the bedroom, he embraced me from behind and unclasped my bra. I slowly slid it down my arms, and at his grasp, my panties were soon to follow their way to the floor. He was admittedly a dom, and tonight, I was nothing but the pawn, submitting to whatever move he would demand of me next.
When we finished, we talked candidly and openly about our spiritual journeys, our failed relationships, and our dogs. He cried as we spoke about the crumbling of his marriage. His vulnerability was attractive and calming. I felt as though I had known him before he stripped me down and took me in my kitchen. We connected quickly, genuinely and organically until the clock struck my bedtime. Unlike my other casual sexual encounters, I left this one without a witty one-liner that asserted my dominance. I let him whisk out the door silently, as the snow fluttered its way past the streetlights. Despite our magical, unexpected, and sexy night together, I knew I had little intention on ever seeing him again.
But with that evening, I became the wiser. Despite my need for independence, power, and control, I learned that maybe sometimes it’s nice to submit and become the pawn.