It finally happened on a Wednesday evening: We agreed to meet at a bar. It shouldn’t be anything special, just a nice talk. My roommate insisted on taking me down on his motorcycle. We waited and waited. Mistrust took hold. “See. I told you. He’s still not here. Maybe he won’t come.” And then he arrived. He was half an hour too late. It felt like an eternity. I was pissed. How can he make me wait so long on our first date? I said goodbye to my roommate, who pointed out that I could call him at any time. “All right. Now it’s finally happening”, flashed through my mind. My Brazilian was neatly dressed, in a white shirt and jeans. I spent an hour for dressing me up, picking an adorable overall. I felt overdressed. As he was welcoming me I could perceive his good smell. And he gave me his dazzling smile. Did it strike me once before?
We went to the entrance, went up a few stairs and suddenly we were on a roof terrace. He had picked a wonderful place for our first date. I was thrilled. An incredibly exotic flair surrounded us. Palms, wooden chairs, an open barbecue. And we both far away from home. It was fascinating. It fascinated me. We sat opposite each other. He smiled at me all the time. His eyes sparkled. I looked often on my phone. I was nervous. “Put the phone away. Or are you expecting a call?” I mumbled a quick “no” and dropped the phone in my bag.
We drank one beer after another and I was hungry. I had a long way to my office and had barely time to eat. “Do you really want to eat here? It’s really spicy.” Indeed, his warning was meant nicely, but I felt underestimated. We ate something small and he was amazed that I had no problems with spicy food. I really didn’t have. But if I would have had it, I wouldn’t have shown it either. I wanted to behave perfectly in front of him. The perfect blend of beauty, strength and intelligence.
We talked about everything: our work (what a coincidence, he was employed as a designer, like me), our life in India and our lives at home. He talked about his first months here. And we laughed at the Indian accent, the odd way of saying yes and no (both times Indians shake their heads) and the very strange manners . We laughed a lot, talked a lot. In between, I had to go to the toilet. Where will it all end all? What am I doing here? Will he kiss me? I was insecure. I took one last look into the mirror, refreshed my make-up and arranged my hair. “Well, now it can go on”, I thought. And it went on. And how!
As soon as I came back from the toilet, our conversation intensifies noticeably. Suddenly he looked at me for a few seconds and sat down next to me. “What’s going on?” I asked. “You look so beautiful today and there is only one thing that I’ve already wanted to do all evening long: Kissing you!” His lips felt so softly. He didn’t hesitate long. He pressed instantly his tongue inside my mouth. It was brisk and at the same time extremely breathtaking. We kissed for a long time. It was like an undertow of passion. He began to hug me more and more, clutching my hips. Our first kiss was followed by many more. Once our lips didn’t touch, we drank beer or exchanged sly short sentences. We forgot the world around us. I can’t even remember whether people stared at as us. Probably they did. We were too passionate. But we didn’t care. Only we mattered, nobody else. If we hadn’t been foreigners, the waiters would have tossed us out of the restaurant.
We were the last ones leaving the restaurant. He asked me where we will go now and we went to my flat. I wouldn’t have scored with him. Not today! As we reached home, my flatmates were already asleep. We tried to be quiet. We kept on kissing, on the balcony and in the kitchen. His kisses became more and more intense. What if he wants to score with me? Were my flatmates right? I could feel his arousal, but I told him that there is nothing else which is gonna happen tonight. I know him too less and there is also no place here. He took another sip of water, kissed me goodbye and went home. He was angry, I could feel it. I was afraid that I lost him. But I was more worth it than an one-night-stand. The same night I wrote him asking if he received home. He answered briefly and very annoyed. “I was at home about three and could hardly sleep.” He didn’t say anything about our kisses, the evening or his feelings. I had to suppress my tears.