A Hot Date

7 min read

Finally I Get What I Want


We cannot determine what happens in life. It is a difficult truth that we can’t always get what we want. What I wanted was another date with Zein.

Too much time had passed since our first date. Out of country travel, texts that never went through, a lost phone — a string of unusual circumstances and mishaps prevented us from meeting again, despite the fact that we both enjoyed our first date, and both expressed enthusiastic interest in having another. We played phone tag and texted sporadically, attempted a number of times to meet, but things kept getting in the way, and eventually this dragged on long enough that I struggled to recall the features of his face, which I had only ever seen a few times, and all I could remember was a vague impression, of penetrating deep set Arabian eyes. Yet still I longed to see him again.

Our last date had been a full three months before. He had taken me to a Turkish restaurant. I arrived freshly showered, nicely made up, dabbed in essential oils of geranium and sandalwood, wearing an off shoulder garnet-colored dress and tight leggings that flattered the abundant curves of my hourglass figure.

He met me at the door and led me to our table, a very gentlemanly gesture I thought. He said it was great to see me again and that I looked beautiful. I responded sweetly that it was nice to see him again too. I noted to myself with pleasure that he looked just as handsome as he had the first time we met.

We shared a hummus platter and an entree of kebabs. Yet neither of us ate; as obsessed with food as I usually am, the conversation was so delightfully engaging that for once I actually forgot about eating.

Zein surprised me with his sincere interest in hearing about me and my life. I find that usually on dates, guys talk only about themselves; I have become accustomed to being a sounding board for them. I ask questions, and they prattle on, with that classic mixture of masculine ego and childlike vulnerability that men present to a woman when they first meet her.

Yet Zein seemed genuinely intrigued by me. The conversation had an air of excitement about it, a spark of interest, of discovery. He also told me about himself; how, like me, he grew up on the East Coast and made his way out to California to explore new opportunities; how, like me, he came from a traditional family steeped in an ancient Middle Eastern religion that had felt different and strange growing up in American society. There was rapport and understanding between us, easy laughter.

I had not realized the first time I met him, when we only talked briefly, and he first asked me out, just how intelligent he was. My experience has been that there are a lot of smart young guys in Silicon Valley, where Zein lives, but many of them are very narrow in their scope. They are brilliant with numbers or engineering, but lack a nuanced understanding of the arts and humanities, a holistic perspective. They can quickly get boring and dry to talk to.

Zein was different. Though he ran a Silicon Valley tech company, he appreciated music and poetry, he shared stories of world travel, he was articulate and insightful. Yet he had a light touch in his demeanor; he teased and joked with me in a way that tickled me, that charmed me. Zein saw what was different about me, my energy, which I have carefully cultivated over many years of spiritual studies, and he was curious about it. But I felt not just that he saw me, which in truth many people do, but that he was uniquely enamored with what he saw. He made me feel special.

At that time, I had recently had a change in my personal relationships; I no longer had a partner, and I wanted to experience being with a new lover. So when, after we finished dinner, Zein invited me to come back to his place, I coyly acquiesced.

Once we were settled in his apartment, a utilitarian yet tasteful bachelor pad, he was direct and assertive. He pulled me close to his chest and leaned in to kiss me. The subtle masculine scent of his cologne piqued my senses. I closed my eyes to draw in the sensations.

His kiss was soft and deep. He kissed me for awhile with his tongue, then bestowed insistent kisses like gifts on my face, his lips warm and sensual against my skin. He moved behind me and, with the stealth of a lion carefully tracking its prey in the jungle, pressed the length of his body against my back side, embracing me from behind and caressing my hips with his strong hands. He buried his face in my hair, and I shuddered as I felt his hot breath at the back of my neck. Chills ran down my spine as he forged a trail of passionate kisses down my neck, into the hollows of my back.

We undressed, and he instructed me to lie down on his bed. I lay back, fully naked, luxuriating into his pillows. He started at the foot of the bed, and like a supplicant at the feet of a goddess, he kissed my toes, licked my feet, kissed his way up my legs, as I writhed with pleasure.

It was this artful beginning of his seduction, his ardent kisses, that I remembered most vividly afterwards. That, and how deeply he had stimulated my mind. He had left me with a burning curiosity to know him better.

Whenever I thought about him kissing me, I would get chills from the memory. Even as months passed without seeing him, I felt a heavy romantic magnetism in the space between us. His texts, or just a simple kiss-blowing emoji from him, could send heat through my body and make me swoon.

Finally he sought again to arrange another date. This would be the last time I could grant him the opportunity. Too much time had passed since the first date; it would not make sense to keep waiting any longer beyond this. I worried that something screwy would happen this time too, and the date would not work out.

It felt like our romance was cursed. Of course, that only made me want it more. Yet I hated to get my fragile hopes up only to face disappointment.

The night before the date, I ate a dinner of fish chow fun at a Chinese restaurant and a message came to me in the form of a fortune cookie, which read: “A THRILLING TIME IS IN YOUR IMMEDIATE FUTURE.” For me, fortune cookies never lie. A fortune cookie warned me of the Trump win last year. I knew then that our date was on. My heart rejoiced with tremulous anticipation.

On the night of the date, I waited on my front patio in the warmth of the summer night for Zein to pick me up. I was wearing a ruby red velour dress, with a skirt that extended down to mid-calf. The plush fabric lightly hugged my curves. The dress was sexy and tasteful.

I was not nervous about the prospect of seeing Zein, as he had made me feel comfortable in his presence, though I was very excited to see him. Yet I was still concerned that something might happen to ruin our plans, like maybe he would have to cancel at the last minute, as had occurred one time before. I would not be able to fully relax until he arrived.

Finally he pulled up in his silver Lexus SUV. A wave of relief passed through me that he was actually there. I got in.

Our eyes met in the glow of the car’s lights. There was a moment of frisson, an electrical jolt of erotic energy that shot between us. So much time had passed since our last encounter, and we still did not know each other well. Yet the tension of distance had heightened desire for both of us.

Zein was looking as gorgeous as I remembered him. He was dressed casually, in well tailored khaki pants, and a crisp white shirt which offset the rich honey color of his brown skin. His dark eyes sparkled with warmth and intelligence. I could smell his familiar intoxicating scent as I sat next to him in the car.

Zein acted cool. He was like a poker player who was not showing his cards yet but knew that he had a winning hand. I noticed, out of the corner of my eye, that he was surreptitiously checking out my appearance when I faced the road, then when I turned to look at him, he slyly darted his gaze so that he was looking straight ahead again, as though I made him shy. We continued like this for a bit, taking each other in.

He took me to a Moroccan restaurant this time. We shared a lamb tagine. The succulent stew was prepared well, but again neither of us ate; the conversation was too captivating.

I found that I could talk to Zein about everything, including my deepest esoteric insights, about which he was truly fascinated. Zein was descended from an ancient line of seers, mystics, leaders; he intuitively understood the realm of dreams and visions. The more we talked, the more we discovered what we had in common, though we hailed from two separate communities, who have been at war with each other for some time.

Myths and legends depict our two distinct tribes as being descended, thousands of years ago, from a single ancestor, diverging into the disparate lines of two brothers, that grew into two illustrious branches of monotheism. With Zein I felt comfortable feelings of familiarity and belonging, yet they were countered by the alluring spice of transgression. Though we had much in common, we were forbidden lovers in a sense. And that only made it more hot.

After dinner, Zein took me to his place. When we were inside, he put his arm around me and led me into his bedroom.

There he enveloped me in his embrace and drew me to him to kiss me. My breasts pressed into his chest and I could feel his heartbeat. I sighed into the warmth of his grasp, melted into his masculine strength.

His lips met mine. His kiss was electric. He pulled me closer into him, smoothing his hands over the plump curvature of my ass.

“You’re so beautiful,” Zein whispered in my ear, his voice full of passion. “I missed you.”

He circled behind me and nuzzled his face into the crook of my neck, bestowing sensuous kisses onto my skin that shot tingles down my spine.

He unzipped my dress, pulled it off and let if fall to the floor, unhooked my lacy black bra, removed it, and cupped my full bare breasts in his hands, lightly brushing my sensitive nipples with his fingertips, so they hardened with arousal. He continued to inundate my back with kisses, as his hands travelled down to my belly and below, stroking and lightly caressing, teasing. A sensual fire lit in every place that he touched, until I glowed all over.

Intense emotions washed over me. My senses were heightened. Zein was touching me on so many levels, stimulating me the way I need, mind, body and soul. It was exactly what I had been yearning for from him.

He bent me over the bed. My face was buried in the sheets and my eyes closed. All of a sudden, I felt his tongue between my thighs, wet and soft, licking my sensitive inner folds. I let out a long moan.

He groaned, matching my moaning breaths.

“You’re driving me crazy!” I breathed.

He licked me until I was dripping with viscous juice. I was like a flower secreting nectar. My dewy petals strained opened to receive him. I gasped as I felt him slide inside of me, plunging deep into my plush wetness.

He penetrated me. He entered me again and again, went deep inside me, touching the deepest part of me, the delicate golden pistil of my g-spot. I blossomed outward like a lotus, blooming in expansive waves of pleasure, pulsing and contracting into the sybaritic flow of nature, until I was at one with everything.

“I’m not done with you yet,” Zein softly growled, as I cried out from the intensity of my release. “I’m gonna fuck you all night!”

And he did.

I got what I wanted.

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