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I came in and sat down at the end of the bar near the back way out to the parking lot. I wanted to be able to run if anything went wrong, or if I chickened out. I ordered a drink to try to smooth out my jagged nerves and watched them from across the room. She was wearing an ivory sleeveless dress that came to just above her knees. Her skin was smooth and bronze, begging to be touched. The man was a few years older, closer to my age. Fairly average looking, but he had a nice smile and a relaxed, intimate manner, leaning toward her as he talked and touching her frequently to punctuate his sentences. I noticed them starting to look around to try to identify me. I had told them I would be at the bar, wearing a dark blue sweater and my favorite long silver earrings, the ones that give me confidence. I saw her touch his arm and whisper something in his ear when she spotted me, and then gesture to the empty seat between them.I joined them. Up close, she smelled as delicious as I thought she would- vanilla and honey, citrus and spice. I tried to think of an excuse to touch her while we introduced ourselves. Finally I managed to brush her arm when I reached past her to set my drink on the bar. That first touch made me shiver, with a mix of desire and nervousness. I Escort Çukurambar almost let my fingers move down and stroke her arm, then her wrist, then her fingers, but I was too unsure of myself to try it.They took turns telling me their story. She was from Argentina originally; they had met while she was at the university here working on her MFA in photography. He was the manager of a restaurant near campus that served her favorite dessert, similar to one her family made for special occasions. They started talking late at night when things weren't busy. He learned to make a few more of her favorite dishes as a way to keep her coming in, and she suggested improvements they didn't really need to keep the conversation going longer. They started dating, then became more serious over the two years of her program. When she graduated, they decided to get married so that she could stay and begin working and exhibiting in the states. That was ten years ago.Over the years, she had finally told him that she was bisexual. After many discussions and many arguments, he had agreed to let her indulge herself from time to time, although that came with a few conditions: he had to have met the prospective partner; he wanted to make sure demetevler escort that it would be someone who would treat his wife well and not seem to be a psycho or blackmailer or something of the sort. They would, every few months, place an ad looking for someone for her, and arrange a couple of meetings to check them out before anything happened. That was what I was doing here.After 20 years in a monogamous marriage, my husband had given me a hall pass as an anniversary present, a one-time only opportunity to try something new, anything I wanted, with whomever I wanted. I spent the weeks after that thinking, trying to decide what I most wanted to experience. I scrolled through lists of ads on Craigslist - women wanting women, men wanting women, BDSM, groups, every possible combination.*I kept clicking different ads, trying to figure out what to do, until I finally saw the one that made the decision for me. It was a woman seeking another woman, nothing too unusual, except for the picture that accompanied the ad, a black and white view of her from one side, smooth dark hair partially hiding her face and fanning out over one exposed shoulder. I couldn't get that image out of my mind. There was something so mysterious, dikmen escort bayan so intriguing. I wanted to brush her hair aside and bury my face in the curve of her neck, feel the pulse of her heartbeat, the prickle of goosebumps on her skin.For days, I thought it over. Obsessively. As intrigued as I was, I was terrified; anything could go wrong. It could be awkward, creepy, or just plain bad. I might not like them, they might reject me, or they could be crazy weirdos. After all was said and done, it seemed like it would be ok. We kept talking about what would happen next; because we seemed to get along so far, we arranged to meet again next week, this time at their house.I showed up at the house that Friday, as arranged. The husband wasn't there this time; I guess he felt that I'd passed inspection and she and I could get to know each other better. She came to the door looking beautiful; in ivory again, a blouse in a silky fabric and a flowing skirt. Again she smelled of something edible - cinnamon, and cloves. She showed me around; the house was full of photos she had taken of landscapes and people, in black and white and color. I was impressed with the way she was able to focus on a small detail in the photo and make sure that it captured the viewer's attention too.Finally we entered a room which was clearly her private space. There was a large bed by one wall, a grouping of sofas and armchairs in the middle of the room, and more photos. These were different, nudes and erotic subjects - a hand cupping a full round breast, the back and neck of a naked woman.