Making Love to a Stranger

By MakeLoveNotPornstar Goddess Erica.

We’d been dancing together most of the night. I liked the way his body moved so effortlessly with mine in the dark, crowded bar. I liked the way he smelled. We were strangers, but not completely. He worked with my best friend, and we’d been introduced while passing the first round of drinks. The energy in the small Afro-Carribean bar was celebratory and electric. The DJ’s set was accompanied by a live djembe drummer as bodies writhed to the pulsing cadence punctuating everything around us. We were there with a group celebrating my bestie’s birthday and recent move to New York. Everyone there was beautiful, stylish and approachable.

He and I hadn’t spent much time talking. We’d flit from one dance partner to the next, occasionally finding each other amongst the crowd where we’d sink into a beautiful, grinding rhythm. Only to drift apart as our song ended and the next round of drinks called us to the bar.

After a few of these cycles — dancing with others, finding each other, then drifting apart — we reached that part of the night where it wasn’t very late but the crescendo of the evening had certainly passed.

Something stirred in me as I approached him leaning against a pillar, smiling and observing our group. I was high on the energy of the evening and I needed his permission to satisfy my desire to touch him more.

“What are you doing after this?” A song was ending, so I leaned in and brought my lips close to his ear.

“I’m thinking of going home. Are there other plans?” He responded casually, not quite grasping where I was headed with my question.

“Not that I know of. Would you like to leave together?”

“Like, share an Uber or…” I watched his eyebrow raise as he studied my face, gauging the true intent of my words.

“Would you like to go home with me and sleep together?” I clarified. This time, allowing my lips to gently graze his ear. I drew back and held his gaze through my lashes.

I was prepared to receive a “yes” or “no” graciously. Though, I already knew from the way his hands gripped my body as we danced together that we shared an attraction. But attraction does not equate interest or availability. And a willingness to dance provocatively does not signal a desire to have sex. My direct question to him was just as much a question as an unambiguous statement of my own interest.

I took some pleasure in watching him attempt to maintain a neutral expression, but his eyes betrayed him.

“I’d like to kiss you first. If that’s okay.” He was now gauging the depth of his own interest. This measured response sat well with me. Rushing in had no place here. I nodded.

We wandered to a more private corner of the bar. He leaned back against the wall, hand on my waist and gently pulled me in. His lips were soft and welcoming; his tongue delicious, as I allowed my body to melt against his.

He pulled away, I accepted his eye contact and he smiled and nodded. Our dance would continue beyond the bar tonight.

Before leaving, I found my bestie and let her know what I was planning, where I was going and with who. I asked her if she or anyone else had any concerns about him. She said no, so I told her when I planned to return to her apartment, and that I’d text her if any of those plans changed. We hugged and I skipped off to have a one-night-stand.

The negotiation began as soon as our Uber pulled away with the two of us in the back seat.

“Before we get to your place, I wanted to get on the same page about tonight. Is it ok if I share your address with my safety contact and take a picture of your ID?” The back of the Uber was dark, but I could see his eyes studying me from the shadows that obscured his expression. He nodded.

I pulled out my phone and began to type a text message. “I’m sending a message to my husband to call and check on me in 2 hours. We have an open polyamorus relationship, and I let him know when I’m planning to have casual sex. I’m not interested in pursuing a relationship beyond tonight. Are you ok with that?” He nodded and continued to peer at me.

“Are you in a relationship?” I continued.

He wasn’t. Although, he’d recently had a breakup. We talked about it for a little while, before I asked my next question.

“Let’s talk about safety and boundaries.” I let him know when I had last been tested for STIs and my results. I asked him about his testing status. I told him how I managed birth control for myself and asked if he had condoms.

“I’ve never met anyone like you before. No one’s ever been this direct.” he whispered during a pause.

“I’m a sex goddess,” I whispered back as I leaned in to once again taste his lips.

On the stairs to his apartment, I told him how I liked to be touched. And where I didn’t want to be touched. I asked him if he wanted to shower together.

In his bedroom, we undressed each other slowly. Eyeing and caressing each newly revealed swath of skin with breathless awe. As he wrapped me up in his arms to kiss my neck, I melted into the reverie of feeling the vibration of his body against mine. His excitement. His smell. Everything about him aroused me. But the thought of washing him with my hands only to cover him anew in my own scent aroused me more. We walked hand and hand to the shower.

In those quiet moments, where the only communication exchanged was eye contact and touch, every gesture became ritual. We were in a sacred space. We were preparing to make love.

In his bed, my eyes, hands and mouth sought endless pleasure in the contours of his body. Seeing him respond to my touch thrilled me. Feeling his hands and mouth return the pleasure in kind pushed me towards climax. I drank in his gaze wantonly. My mouth hungrily in search of any part of him as I allowed my body to submit to his entry. Again and again. Every movement, an exquisite chord resonating from my core and repeating until I lost myself in him. Every moment stretched into a beautiful, mind-melting eternity. We touched as if we loved each other, because for those few hours, we did.

When we’d finally spent ourselves, we laid in each other’s arms and marveled at the experience. “I’ve never had a one-night-stand that felt so connected,” he said.

“That’s because we made love. We didn’t have to plan to be together forever to meet each from a place of love tonight,” I murmured onto his chest.

I went home to my bestie early the next morning. In the Uber, I texted him to thank him for our time together, and when I arrived I let him know I was safe. I never messaged again. I didn’t need to. Our dance, beautiful and profound as it was, was done.

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