The Nice Guy Pt. 01: Nerves

A meeting in an unknown neighborhood. That was how it would always come back to him. He toyed with his keys and closed the car door. Gently. Of all times, he didn't want to be noticed.

A cat darted across the street and startled him. The keys rattled against the ground as he dropped them. Picked them up. Dropped them again. He snatched them up and backed into the car door handle. Pain. He knew he'd have a bruise there in the morning. Damn cat.

It was a July night, too cool for the season. He'd thrown a jacket on over his shirt, but was now sweating from nerves. Leaning against the car, he began to think of reasons for getting back in and driving away.

It's too soon. It had been seven years since the divorce. I don't know her. They hadn't met, but he knew her better than any woman in the past decade, including his wife. She won't be impressed. She was always so eager. Spoke so hopefully of meeting him and finally knowing his body. I won't be able to perform.

She wouldn't want a performance. She just wanted time with him. A chance to enjoy his friendship and make him feel cared for. The cat screeched unseen in the night, disturbing his lament. Damn cat. Now, where was I? He let his thoughts ramble back to reality. An unknown neighborhood. Her neighborhood.

It was three in the morning, because he hadn't been mentally ready for the date. He's procrastinated getting home from work that night. Then he slowed time down whilst he cooked his dinner— homemade soup with the vegetables diced... perfectly diced.

Showering had taken another forty-five minutes until the water ran cold. Then he'd shaved for the second time that day and made sure every millimeter of his face and neck were smooth.

That's when he'd decided to shave below, as he called it. What a damn bad idea that had been.

He'd never bother to shave there before, so the hair was long. Exceedingly long. When he'd held the electric razor near his pubes, damn! The thing didn't shave them... it pulled them out. He used scissors to trim the area then took a regular razor around a few times.

So, now, his lower region was a mess of stubble, longish uneven hairs and bright red welts screaming from his skin. He hoped to god she didn't think it was some sort of STD.

Crap! Why was he thinking of that just now?

She wouldn't mind... right? Just come over. It was so easy with her. The worries melted away as soon as he spoke them.

When he thought of how effortless her friendship was, he felt that twitch she caused. He leaned back against the car and gazed up toward the only window with a light. Candlelight. Of course, it must be hers.

He smiled as he enjoyed the warm feeling in his groin and the flicker of the candle. Both the quiet view and his thoughts were filling his body with assurance. It gave him confidence to know she stood somewhere behind that window. Waiting for his face. His voice. His touch. He straightened his jacket, adjusted his beginning erection and took out his phone. Please be awake.

"I'm here." He messaged.

As usual, there was no hesitation on her part. He thrived on that reliability.

"I'm glad." She messaged back. "Will you come up? Can you imagine how excited I am?"

"My cock can feel how excited you are. Lol. Of course, I'll come up. I want to fulfill your excitement. You'd better be ready for me.

Why am I so bold in our chat, and so awkward in real life? He chastised himself again for being timid. I can do this. I want to do this. I'm going to do this. His nerves rose then faded, making way for new nervousness. New apprehension.

Her reply message made him tingle. "You better be ready for ME! Bring your beautiful cock to me... The rest of you can come up, too, if you'd like. Lol"

Twitch. The blood flowed. It was a sign of good things to come.

He crossed the street and thought of her for a moment. A flash of her image came to mind. Her tits. The last photo she'd sent. They were substantial, enormous in his mental vision. He imagined them heavy and full with a slight sway as she walked.

But that was just his imagination. She'd not been willing to send a video, so he'd added his own sense of life into the snap. And her tits now swung in his mind the way he wanted them to. Round and filled with milk. The milk her body was making for him. Her tiny pink nipples streaked through his mind before he regained awareness.

The cat had followed him and languidly pressed against his trousers. He reached the stairs. Her stairs. "Cat, there are milky tits up there. This is it." The cat yawned and looked at him like milky tits were part of his daily routine. The man took the stairs two at a time.

His erection grew as it rubbed inside his pants. Adjusting himself, he left his hand on it, unconscious he was in public. For a long time, he hadn't appreciated the feel of his own cock. Not since high school. But the past month with her friendship, he'd discovered a renewed admiration for his own body.

He gave himself a firm squeeze and enjoyed the sensation. The cat mewed at his feet. "Thanks for the encouragement. Now back away from the door. You're not really my idea of a good pussy." The cat turned and gave him the one-eye, leaving him to his task.

He stood to the side of the door, in case she looked though the peep-hole, and rubbed himself. Come on. You want this. It's not a performance. He was both eager and edgy. A chancy merger of sensations. Damn! Don't stress. You can do this. Damn! He wasn't getting soft, but he wasn't ready for her to see him like this. "Shit."

He looked around for advice from the cat, but it had taken its opinions somewhere into the darkness.

Without another thought, he grasped himself and knocked on her door.

*************

The day had taxed her patience. The faculty had been unapologetic in their bitchiness. When were they ever? Her students had been needy. When were they ever not? The commute had been cumbersome. Usual. She spent the train ride home lost in contemplation of him. Him.

He was a new, unknown variable in her life. Mr. X. Thoughts of him intruded upon her mind every day. She didn't demur. It had been a long time coming, this feeling of warmth at the sound of his voice.

There was a gentleness in him that she sensed when he spoke. It comforted. And his accent. He could read a grocery list aloud, and she'd find it erotic. Oranges, green beans, paper towels. She giggled. Maybe that was an exaggeration, but she could imagine it being true. Especially if he really was all that she felt him to be.

So, lost she had become. The clouds of her mind wandered among his voice, images of his cock and his shopping. She fondled the idea of him as if she were fondling the man, himself. She touched his laughter, his kindness and his affection with the same gentle fingertips that liked to toy with his foreskin.

Except she hadn't met him, yet.

She was looking forward to their date that night. Usually, with other men, she thought of these times as "meets." They'd find a public place, have a drink, and decide if they could tolerate each other long enough to fuck.

But tonight, really felt like an actual date. He was a good guy. A nice guy.

After the first few minutes chatting with him all those weeks ago, she instinctively knew not to mention kink. The man had only experienced sex with his ex-wife. That's it. One solitary woman in his forty-three years.

So, she'd kept it light, playful and tame. Over the past months, he'd kept telling her how sensible she was. Finally, she'd asked him to stop. His words were beginning to make her feel like a pair of brown, low-heeled shoes.

Then sometime in their online conversation, he had jokingly mentioned milking her tits like a cow.

What!?

Having spent the past seven years in the world's BDSM scene, she immediately picked up on this non-joke. It had taken a while, but she now understood that when men joked offhandedly about some things, it was because they were afraid to ask outright.

That night, she'd gone online and purchased a hospital grade breast pump, surprising him with it a few days later in their messages.

She'd now been pumping her tits every four hours for the past two months. It had taken a few weeks, but the milk started coming relatively easily.

She'd gone through the cycle of sore nipples, chapped nipples and swollen nipples. Now she'd achieved 36FF udders whose nipples stood on end and weren't at all painful to the touch.

In fact, she'd been enjoying milking herself the six times a day and feeling a sense of accomplishment. And tonight, it was time for them both to enjoy all her efforts.

He was right downstairs.

The thought of him excited her, and her tits let down as she felt her clit swell. A bit of milk leaked into her white t-shirt, but she didn't think he'd mind.

Instead of going to clean herself up, she took a deep breath, put a smile on her face and opened the door.