Fleshbotted again, here.

I was on the phone to my friend Mazzy as i approached the cafe.

“I have to go, love. I’m nearly there, and it’s just rude to approach someone you’ve never met on the phone to someone else.”

“Of course you must go. We’ll talk tonight, yes?”

I could see him looking at me through the tangle of shrubs and the obligatory parked car outside the cafe. It’s one of the hippest areas in town, which explains the constant absence of parking spaces. However, once inside the confines of the cafe, it was very pleasant — if you ignored the 32+ degree heatwave.

As I approached the table, he made eye contact, and smiled an absolutely charming smile. The sort of smile that was so bewitching that if you could bottle whatever powered it, you could make a fortune. And his eyes — holy fuck-me-slowly. What eyes he had! Like a green crystal, with the twinkle of a man in serious lust.

He’d called me to ask what to order for me, since he knew I’d be later than him at the place by about ten minutes, and my double latte was waiting for me. We sat and sipped, and talked small talk — the various circumstances that had brought us to this place, what we were both looking for and so on. After about twenty minutes, he leaned over and began rummaging through his laptop knapsack.

“I brought you a present,” he said, producing a gaily-wrapped parcel and handing it to me.

“How sweet!” I exclaimed and moved as if to begin carefully removing the Scotch tape — which was when he put his hand over mine to stop me.

“That’s the first time he’s touched you,” noted the little man in my head. “I like the feel of his hand on your arm, don’t you? Strong but not overpowering. Comfortingly masculine. There are shivers running up and down your spine as a result. Mmmm. Why does he have his hand on your arm?”

Good question.

“What’s the problem?” I asked.

He looked into my eyes, and said in a low tone, “I would suggest that you take your gift to the bathroom, and open it there. It’s not the sort of gift that was designed for public consumption.”

My mind boggled. As well it might have.

The bright coloured wrapping was innocuous enough not to draw any special attention from a casual glance. However, I’m used to the more obvious range of store wrapping paper, as a result of being a mother with small children who attend birthday parties, so it was glaringly obvious to me that whatever was contained in this intriguing package was not something that could be put away for a random five-year-old.

The bathroom was, as they often are, clean, nicely furnished but ridiculously cramped. I maneuvered my way in expertly, and swung my shoulder bag so that i could reach inside it. Withdrawing the package, i tore off the paper hastily, patience never having been one of my virtues.

My first thought?

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

It was a brand spanking new Butterfly.

I’m not sure if you recall my wish to own one of these delightful items. It was always a fantasy of Henry’s, to have me wear a Butterfly, of which he had full control, while i attended to the needs of another man; Henry having hand-picked both the man and the toy for my explicit pleasure. However, the idea of owning a remotely controlled device, the control for which I could hand to a partner for the sole purpose of arousing and tormenting me at his whim, appealed to me enormously.

Once I’d secured the device about my person, I returned to our table, where he sat waiting expectantly, and handed him the remote.

(By the way, is it just me, or do elasticated harnesses, despite being essential, detract somewhat from the funky sexiness of a personal clit stimulator? And all that reaching underneath my crotch, and behind my thighs had me feeling like a human pretzel, and not in a sexy way. I mean, I know it’s a means to an end, which was what made the situation far less problematic.

I guess i shouldn’t complain. Not that it ever stops me.)

He signalled the waiter to bring the bill, and we left the cafe, making a beeline for a nearby sushi restaurant, partly because it turns out that we’re both big on the Japanese eating experience, and partly because we could sit side by side. At the bar.Thighs side by side, wandering hands, and unseen but nonetheless enticing vibrations teasing and stimulating my clitoris. And all in public, although with little chance of being noticed. The perfect setting for public misbehaviour. Fun unparalleled.

Despite being confronted with what is quite possibly the best Miso soup on the planet, I suddenly found myself with an abject loss of appetite. Not to mention an absence of my usually prolific capacity to speak. This is something that is not a concept with which I am familiar.

He sat there, one hand around my waist, one on my leg, delighting in my laconic reticence, which was punctuated by the occasional muted moan and sigh. He put his other hand on my inner thigh and drew concentric circles, as he leaned in closer to me, and subtly kissed my neck.

I nearly came right there and then.

I’d often fantasised about public misbehaviour, but this was the first opportunity to actually realise it, excepting a couple of fumbled gropes here and there over the years. This was not only the most fun I ever had when sushi was present, but it was also a remarkable learning curve for me.

I learned that, as i had suspected, I have a broad streak of exhibitionism in me. This experience is, mark my words, only the tip of the iceberg.

I also learned that apparently i lose my appetite when being aroused. i had no idea. It was simply not an issue I’d ever come across previously. All i knew about food and sex was that after sex, i could eat a steak the size of a cow. Preferably still mooing. Heh.

Either way, this guy is something special. A butterfly on a first date? Holy mother of pearl. I can’t wait for date number two. And that’s tonight.

Watch this space…