Soundtrack: Candy Shop by 50 Cent feat. Olivia.
On the fourth date, Whisky showed me his magic trick: he was an eater. He was my very first proper eater. If I wasn’t obsessed with him before, I sure as fuck was after that date. Not that it was a date, as such; we’d already moved into at-home dates by that point. And, as I’ve since realised, there’s not a lot of going-out dates once that happens.
We had watched a movie, eaten some food, and listened to some music with a couple of beers on the couch when it happened. I don’t know where Bestie was. Working? Drinking at the bar? I can’t remember now, but Whisky and I had the place to ourselves. So, we made the most of it.
It was right there, on the couch, as I was sipping my beer straight from the bottle, that he made his move. There were no words involved, but I probably wouldn’t have understood them in his accent anyway.
He started moving, slowly, edging himself out from behind me in our cuddling spot, stroking my legs as he went.
“Where are you going?” I asked, but he didn’t say anything back. He just raised his eyebrows and grinned at me. And damn, it was the most beautiful grin: straight, white teeth with those “Scottish canines” that My Mr. Grey also had.
Maybe I did have a type, after all?
An Eater
When he started shuffling me out of my combat trousers, I knew what he was doing. Well, ish. Sex, obviously… of some sort. Whisky went for my thong next, but didn’t bother taking off my shirt or bra. Impatient brat, I thought.
Next, he made his way up my thighs with kisses – up one first, then down the other. Some of them tickled and made me giggle, but that didn’t stop him. He just soldiered on (pun intended) and ignored every half-hearted protest, looking at me with dark, hungry eyes that dared me to try and stop him.
He spread me wide with his fingers next, then lapped from my clitoris to my ass and back again, then planted soft kisses everywhere. It was unexpectedly soft for him. He counteracted it with an almost painful bite on my thigh, of course. And that’s just how Whisky worked down there: unexpectedly, unpredictably, from one extreme to the other, then back again. Enthusiastically, too. He’d moan enjoyment into my body, and every vibration of his gruff voice hit exactly the right spot.
He circled my clit slowly, steadily, seemingly knowing without me having to tell him that I didn’t like direct clitoral stimulation. Slowly but surely, he drove me crazy. I could sense my climax on the horizon, but it felt that we were moving at a snail’s pace towards it. Perhaps that had been his intention all along? Whatever the case, it steadily wound me into a tightly coiled, horny little spring.
Whisky refused to speed up, or change motion, or even switch the pressure; he just continued to circle his tongue. Each lap nudged me a tiny bit closer. It both was and wasn’t enough. It was enough to convince me that he could make me come, but it wasn’t enough to satiate my now impatient self.
Thankfully, eventually, it happened: I came. My half-moans turned into full groans that I didn’t want to stifle, and my back arched to try and get away from relentless tongue torment, and my hands gripped the sheets so tightly that my knuckles were the colour of writing paper.
It was exquisite. I was literally delirious. Everything about Whisky just got better and better. He was the most beautiful boy in the world, and funny, and he fucked well, and he ate like a true eater.
Honestly, I was the happiest girl in the whole damn world.
The next blog post in the dating timeline is this one: That Time I Got a Cherry Stuck In My Vagina.
Thank you so much for reading my blog today! 🖤
Would you like to read all about The Ex-Husband’s story, right from the very beginning? You’ll find that right here.
You can also read all about my disastrous dating history, right from the beginning, right here: Table of Dating Contents.
Alternatively, why not have a little peek around here: