The Final Arrangement - Sex Stories

The Final Arrangement

... returns with fresh, steaming cups. The first sip of hot, sweet flavour and his smile warms away the chill and the cold, grey mood. At least for the moment.

He's about the same height as John, I think. He's smart-casual today: an expensive linen open-necked shirt, designer jeans and tan leather shoes over a slim and healthy frame. He could be John's twin, an impression that's both disarmingly comforting and yet unsettling.

The air is filled with cafe chatter and barista shouts, punctuated by the frothy snarl of the hard-working coffee machine.

"I'm delighted you decided to come," he begins, his voice quiet, calming, and deeply resonant. There's an awkward pause as I stir my coffee, staring thoughtfully into the briefly rippling latte foam. He continues, "But naturally, I'm curious. What helped you to decide?"

"John trusts you."

"Thank you," he smiles. "That really means a lot to me." A thoughtful pause. "And what about you? How do you feel about us meeting today?"

His dark eyes convey a softness and kindness reflecting genuine concern.

"I... I don't know." I can feel him watching me intently, looking for some clue, some revealing truth. "I honestly feel a confused mess inside. So many feelings, so many things spinning through my head. They're difficult to untangle."

He thinks for a moment then says, "So let's see if we can find out where we're starting." He turns toward the cafe window and draws three cartoon faces in the condensation with a ...

... finger: a sad face, a neutral face and a smiley face spaced along an imaginary line. "So if this was a scale from sad and upset to happy and excited, where do you think your feelings are right now?"

Impulsively, I draw an 'x' between the neutral and happy faces.

"Thank goodness," he chuckles. "But let's make sure of something really important." He pauses to sip his coffee, choosing his words. "You and John mean a lot to me." He reaches across the table and places his hand lightly over mine, looking serious. "If there's anything today - anything at all - that makes you feel bad, or upset, or in any way concerned, then you say 'stop' and we stop. Okay?"

I nodded. Some anxiety lifted a little and I smiled.

"And it goes without saying that if I feel something's wrong, I'm going to do the same." He looks cautiously at me and continues, "Remember, I've not done anything like this before either."

We laugh together, nervously. And our quiet laughter rings out, unintentionally: it lands into one of those strange instants of silence that suddenly descended, as though a hundred unrelated cafe conversations have simultaneously arrived at the same pause. In that moment, I feel very uncomfortable, conspicuous and exposed as eyes turn towards us. The feeling persists even though chatter gradually returns.

"Hungry?" he asks. I shake my head. "Me neither," he continues. "I feel like I've swallowed a bucketful of live butterflies."

I smile. "Good to know that we feel the ...