After flirting on Bumble for a week, I met Jack for a drink at a local pub, somewhere between his place and mine.
I was nervous, but I’d worn my lucky date dress – a tight grey number which moved seamlessly from the office to after work drinks, with a good hint of cleavage rounding off my curves.
I walked into the pub, and there was Jack, drop dead handsome with a mop of dark hair and a G&T waiting for me.
Taking a seat at the table by the window, I took in his white shirt, stretched over his arms and chest, and up to the widest grin under sheepish eyes.
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Jack was a former farm boy from a cattle property out in Victoria, and, with a sprinkle of freckles across his nose, his laid-back attitude was a welcome relief from the string of city boys I’d been dating.
His relaxed and humble vibe oozed across the room, quickly putting me at ease and making me feel comfortable. I asked him about life on the farm and he described it vividly, from breeding to feeding to delivering calves.
Compared to the men in suits, he was a breath of fresh country air.
The night rolled on and we moved from pub to bar to nightcap, and soon we were back in his room, clothes flying off. My hands ran across his shoulders and down his back as his own fingers pushed inside me, with long deep strokes, gliding over my clitoris.
Unzipping in the dark, he pushed himself in and I moaned long and hard, a release of tension washing over me.
Covering my mouth with his hand, he began to move in and out, and I dug my nails in deeper, unable to control myself as Jack filled me up, inch by inch.
The speed intensified and soon came that give away sound. As we rocked back and forth, the bed squeaked, high pitched and clear, and definitely audible to his housemates in the room next door.