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Kerry waited for me outside. I approached her from behind, and my eyes were glued on that glorious ass until she felt the heat of my gaze and turned. She had on a plain green t-shirt and a black mini-skirt, the kind that make it hard to think. Her face was shiny and clean, no makeup. Her skin had a dewy freshness, like she had come straight out of the shower, or the bedroom.

“Hey, John,” she said.

“Hey, Kerry,” I replied, loving the feel of her name in my mouth.

We got a booth and I sat beside her.

“I hope you don’t mind, I’m a little hard of hearing,” I said. And it was true. Too many concerts as a kid without ear plugs, and I had a hard time holding conversations in places with a lot of background noise. I could either ask Kerry to shout, smile and nod at her, or use my deafness as an excuse to cozy up.

Her hand was beside her on the worn leatherette, and I “accidentally” but my hand on hers. She blushed and pulled away, before a smile broke on her face. She laid her hand over mine, twining our fingers together.

The image flashed in my mind of those same fingers, caressing her breast, trailing down her waist, and I snapped my eyes to the table.

“So, anything else interesting happen today?” I asked, mainly to distract myself.

“I can honestly say, being asked out by a guy after my dog nailed him in the testicles is the most interesting thing that’s happened this week,” she said with a crooked smile.

God, I wanted to eat that smile. “Technically, I told you that you could buy me a beer, so, it’s not really a date.”

She looked up from the menu to roll her eyes at me. Leaning over, she whispered in my ear, “You’re way too excited for this not to be a date.”

I looked at my cock, afraid I was pitching a wicked tent, but I was rocking a respectable excited-about-a-girl half-chub. Kerry covered her mouth, she was laughing so hard.

My face turned red and I grabbed a menu.

“Can I get you two something to drink?” the waitress asked.

“Yuengling,” I mumbled.

“Two Yuenglings,” Kerry said.

“Do you need another minute with the food?” the waitress asked.

“Yes please,” Kerry replied. She squeezed my hand, then put it on her knee. Her sunny smile banished my doubt and embarrassment. This was going to be a good date.

I ended up writing a short story for my erotica class, and I was super very tempted to post that here instead, ‘cuz my writing muscles are tired. It’s about a slutty duke trying to get into our heroine, Violetta’s, skirts. Our teacher gave us a plotting exercise, and I thought of the cheesiest thing I could (because I’m not one much for plot) which happened to be the opera, and I channel Mozart. It’s goofy and fun, and according to Pro Writing Aid, it needs a lot of “was” and “were” cut out of it. It probably needs some actual sex too. The big moment in the piece right now is Violetta’s kiss.