Back in the Saddle

Sorry, I got out of the habit of posting over May, which was crazy busy, and then I didn't have a lot of post about, and then I did, but I was out of the habit, and anyway, here we are again.

At my work, we occasionally have what we refer to as "Indian Dance Bat-Mitzvas" for lack of a better term (I believe one of the terms is Arangetram, but that doesn't seem to be universal). They're dance concerts which are sort of coming-of-age ceremonies for the dancer (always a young woman) in question. And... well, they're not our favorite things in the world because they're a lot of effort and tend to involve live musicians and so forth.

But we host them because my boss hasn't yet convinced the higher-ups that they're not worth the effort. So a while back (yes, I know) we hosted one for a very nice young lady who didn't have live musicians and who was fairly laid back about the whole thing, so I was already kindly disposed toward her.

Typically relatives of the dancer handle all the prep and interfacing with technical elements and so forth. Most of the time it's brothers, although I think we did once have a cousin. They can be just as harried as we are because sometimes their sister is being a total Indian-Dance-Bat-Mitzva-zilla, or because the musicians are terrible to work with (they usually are). I have a certain degree of sympathy for them because often they're thrust into the situation with little or no decisions made on their part.

Well, this time the tech was being handled by a charming older sister of the dancer in question. And because there was no live music, I was running things by myself. Perhaps you already see where this is going, but I'm not going to tease.

The sister, let's call her Daya, was over this shit from the get go. She favorably impressed me by swearing a blue streak, then blushing and trying to make sure I wouldn't tell her father she knew those words. Apparently Daya has no time for dancing. She's in college, she's interested in STEM, she doesn't care about art, but as the eldest it fell to her to do this job. I liked her immediately.

I liked her even more when I got to know her over the course of the evening's rehearsal. I want to make it plain that I was not coming on to her at all. She's young enough to be my daughter, for one thing, and for another she didn't seem to be interested in me at all that way. But she was cute as hell. Slim, small bust, still nice curves, long black hair, fairly dark complexion. And did I mention short? Short enough that if we had stood face to face she would have gotten a facefull of boob.

At a certain point we were on break and she sheepishly asked me if there was someplace where she could smoke without being seen by her relatives. Oh, sweet summer child. Of course mama knows where the best spots are. I don't smoke anymore, but I know all the spots.

And it seemed perfectly natural for me to join her, since I had to show her the way. So we sat, she smoked, and we chatted about this and that.

And then I noticed that, far from being uninterested in me, she was ogling me. Like, she didn't have any experience hiding it at all. She was in fourteen-year-old-boy-seeing-his-first-boob territory. She couldn't stop staring at my chest.

And frankly, I was prepared to let her look and say nothing, because I've been the recipient of patience on the part of my ogle-ee often enough and I like to pay it forward.

But then she said, "Are you doing anything after? The family is having dinner in the lobby and I'm sure you could come and have some too, if you like Indian."

Now here's where I differ from my boss: I love Indian, and frequently these events are catered and they offer me food and that makes up for a lot of the hassle. Hell, I like the attention I get as a gringo liking Indian food. They start by offering me the least bizarre things but when I graduate to the hard stuff, they're impressed and feed me more. I got the same thing as a child in sushi places: the chef would frequently slip me bits and bobs of stuff because I was willing to eat it. So hell yeah, I was totally on board with having free Indian food.

My boss, on the other hand, doesn't particularly like Indian, plus food is a mess to clean up, so that gets added to the negative side of the balance sheet. Ah well. More for me, at least until they decide to stop allowing these events.

She stubbed out her cigarette prettily (I love how some women make smoking sexy, and Daya was one of them) and seemed enthusiastic when I was enthusiastic about Indian food. We went back and finished the rehearsal and chatted.

Then dinner with the family. I was all set to take mine to go, but Daya insisted on introducing me around and sitting me down and tempting me with all sorts of goodies until it felt rude to refuse. So I had delicious Indian food. Vegetarian, which I know would put off some people, but not me. Spicy as shit, but I sweated and loved it. This is not a food blog, so I'll draw the curtain over my meal.

Family was breaking up, Daya and I were sitting and talking, and then it seemed rude not to help clean up, so I did that, and then goodbyes until the morrow and Daya was asking me, sotto voce, whether she could have another cigarette before she left.

The building is confusing, but not that confusing, and I feel like she could have found her way back to the quiet spot, but I let her make me show her the way again. I was feeling positive toward the world. Good food does that to me.

And when she sat down next to me, probably too close for comfort, I let it happen. And when she leaned in and kissed me, I was okay with that too. Sometimes things just happen.

"Sorry," she said, blushing, when she came up for air. "I just wanted to do that."

"Don't be sorry," I said with a happy sigh. "I'm totally okay with it."

I had, at some point, I think, given the impression that I was okay with this sort of thing, somehow. I don't really remember it coming up, but hey.

"You want to come back to my place?" she asked, shyly.

"Your place?" I had been under the impression that she lived with her family.

"No, I've got an apartment." Better still.

We drove to her apartment. Or rather, she drove and I tried very hard to convince myself that this was a bad idea, failed, and then started nuzzling her neck a little. She laughed, musically I might add, and pushed me away.

"Do you do this often?" she asked me.

"Make out with cute girls? Yeah, not often enough."

"I mean, with clients." Well, that threw a little cold water on the whole thing.

"I try not to shit where I eat, but sometimes..."

"Oh, sorry, I shouldn't have asked. Not if I want to get your pants off." That brought mutual good feeling back to the car.

"Do you do this often?" I asked her.

"No. Once in high school at a party, and I've made out with some girls in college, but if my parents found out..."

"Don't worry, my lips are sealed."

"I hope not." See, I knew I liked her. She was witty, had a nice laugh, and yeah, she was young enough to be my daughter but I'm not made of stone.

We made it to her apartment in one piece and without losing any clothing, but only just. She hurried me up the steps and inside, and then into the back room, her bedroom. It was cool and dark and welcoming. Smelled like incense. Nag Champa, the kind I remember using to keep campus security from smelling pot. I guess some things never change.

She started kissing me again, gently, longingly, and I helped her hands to my chest where she seemed at a loss for what to do. "You've never gone all the way with a girl," I said finally, noticing her reticence.

"No. Sorry."

"No need to be sorry. We can just kiss and talk if you want."

"No. I'm so fucking horny I'm ready to explode."

Well then.

"Then why don't you just lie back and let me do the work?" Because I believe in welcoming budding lesbians into the fold with charity. It's the best way to encourage them to come back for more. Remember that kids: it may be their first time, but it won't be their last unless you really fuck it up, so be kind to the next person in line, because who knows, it might be you.

She let me pull her t-shirt over her head, pull down her jeans, and there she was in extremely conservative underwear for someone so forward. I'm not complaining. She was cute as a button. Not exactly granny panties or anything, but plain cotton and not revealing all that much.

Her belly though. Slim and taut and with an extremely kissable bellybutton. So I kissed it, because I was eye-level with it and it seemed like a good idea. She jumped out of her skin. I stroked her abdomen and kissed her stomach again, and she relaxed a little.

Eventually I worked my way back up, then guided her onto the bed, pulled off my shirt and jeans, and let her gawk a little because let's just say I was wearing more exciting undergarments than she was. I had taken my previous experiences of the year to heart and started wearing slightly better undies to work because one never knows, and in this case it paid off.

"You're so pretty," she said in awe, which I'm only reporting as fact, I'm not endorsing as opinion.

"No, you're gorgeous," I said, then before she could contradict me I kissed her and undid her bra.

Nice tits. That's all I can say about them. I know some people like them large, particularly in the Indian subcontinent, but hers were small, pert, and perky, with oversized dark nipples. I massaged and kissed for a few moments, then I kissed my way down her delectable collarbone and started suckling on her left nipple, and she was writhing already. I guess "horny enough to explode" wasn't far wrong.

It seemed like she didn't need much warming up, so I curtailed my usual foreplay and worked more quickly. Got her panties down and her legs spread shortly thereafter. She had a thick black bush, which, I'm not going to lie, isn't my first choice, but it looked nice on her. And she smelled like cinnamon. Her pussy was redolent with cinnamon, that's all I can say. Maybe it was some kind of product, or maybe I was just being racist and assuming that an Indian girl's cunt should smell of spice.

She came almost immediately after I flicked my tongue over her swollen clit. She didn't announce it or anything, but she spasmed to beat the band. If only all girls were that easy. But she didn't stop me from continuing my ministrations, so I ministered. Her pussy was dark lips and swollen clit, her asshole was a dark rosebud which she didn't seem to mind when I ran my tongue over it. What can I say? I'm trying to be better about eating ass if the situation calls for it.

"Oh Lexi, wow," she said, but with no indication that she wanted me to stop. I slipped a finger into her tight wet snatch and stroked while practically felating her clit, and she stopped talking and just moaned, high-pitched and needy.

After another finger joined the first, and I was stroking hard into the roof of her cunt, she gasped and then spasmed again, hard this time, her knees squeezing my head like a vise, her breathing ragged. No squirting but she got really, really wet. "Oh fuck," she gasped, then her hips bucked twice, and she relaxed and shakily pushed my face away from her clit.

"I hope my neighbors didn't hear that," she whispered. "That's all I need is for snoopy Ms. X to call my parents on me."

"I wondered if you were holding it in a little," I said softly, moving up to lie next to Daya and kiss her. She seemed slightly reluctant at first, but then I guess she got over her fear of her own pussy juices and we made out for a while. I got better acquainted with her breasts, her hips, and even her ass, which was nicely cuppable if maybe just a little flat.

"Do you want some too?" she murmured to me.

"Only if you want to."

"I feel weird being the only one who came."

"Don't. It's my gift to the first-timer. I can get mine any time."

"No, that's not fair." And she pushed me down to the bed. "Plus... I kinda want to see what's under your bra."

Tit-fixation much? That's fine by me. She strangely had no trouble getting my bra off, which I know can be tough for first-timers. Maybe that one time at a party had gone farther than I thought? Whatever, she was fascinated by my breasts. Worshiped them with her mouth and tongue. I was getting plenty ready myself, if I hadn't been already.

Then she moved down and pulled off my panties. "Oh wow," she said. I don't particularly think I have an awe-inspiring vulva, but Daya didn't have much to compare it with, and it was wet and waiting for her, so maybe a little awe was appropriate.

She wasn't bad, for a first-timer. Particularly since a lot of first-timers don't bother to eat me out after they get theirs. I get handjobs more often than not. But Daya dove in and seemed to like the taste. She wasn't adventurous and I had a satisfactory but not exceptional orgasm, but it was nice. It's always nicer when they're showing their appreciation.

I didn't make her try for two with me, not that I couldn't have gotten two off. I pulled her back up and we made out and pressed naked, sweaty bodies against one another for a while, then I started fingering her while kissing her, then my other hand was on her breast while two fingers stroked up in the old reliable motion, and I got a squeal out of her when she came. She bit her lip while she was cumming, so I just heard the moans in her throat.

And then, bless her, she fell asleep and I was left without a way to get home. So I waited a little bit, texted Sveta to let her know what was up, and then after what seemed like forever but was probably only an hour, woke Daya up and asked her, sheepishly, if she could drive me back to my car. I hated doing that, but I really had to go home and sleep myself.

We parted with a kiss. That was nice too, and she clearly was up for more, and it killed me to leave it at that, but fucking in the parking lot wasn't in the cards.

The next day, she blushed every time she looked at me, and I was pretty sure someone would notice, but fortunately she and I were all alone in the booth during the performance. I did get to ask her, "Why choose me for your first time?"

"I don't know. I wanted to."

Which, I guess, is all that matters.

After the show, she was called away to be a sister, and then they all hustled off to eat somewhere, and though I was invited, I had to get home and feed my own family so I politely declined. Daya looked a little sad, but in an ill-advised moment I did give her my contact info, so it's not like she can never see me again if she wants to. She hasn't contacted me though, so maybe it just gave her the confidence to get with someone her own age. I hope so.