Rocking the boat – a first date story

Image by the brilliant Stuart F Taylor

This hot first date story is written by Victoria Blisse and read by Sherryl Blu

I met this guy on OK Cupid, we chatted a while then decided to meet. The first date went well, when I found the location of it… he was charming, sweet and gorgeous and I, well, you all know I’m a delight. The only problem was the café/bar we met at was closing for a private event less than an hour after we arrived.

So we continued our date back at his. His being an actual goddamn boat. Really! Cute as fuck narrow boat which smelled so beautifully of wood that I had to comment on it and then spent a good amount of my time just stroking the boat walls and admiring the wood grain. Because I’m cool like that.


We spent our evening talking about everything and anything, there was flirting and erotic tension but it never seemed quite the right moment to make a move. He walked me to the tram stop and when it arrived we kissed, gently but confidently followed with eager smiles.

Date 2 was quickly arranged, possibly just because he wanted a bottle of my homemade limoncello but I’m not above bribery, I can tell you. Again, the world decided to do all it could to get between us. A change in day, a covid scare (LFT negative) and work running late all added layers of stress to something that was meant to be straight forward and casual.

However, even the rain didn’t stop us from meeting up. I hugged Boatman extra hard when I saw him because it was clear he was more than just a little stressed. We talked, once again sat on chairs facing each other, as he let out some of the tension that was so clearly in him and built other tension that was so clearly between us.

Then we gathered our snacks. Weird crisps and chocolates from me and olives and tasty cheeses from him. Limoncello with mixers enjoyed with our pick and mix picnic of delights. After eating we were both full and mellow, leaning into sleepy. I told him that he could tell me to bugger off home whenever he needed. He was insistent I stay and talk of cheese naps turned into the decision to go snuggle in the bed.

Firstly, the bed filled the room, which was entertaining in itself, then as I sat on said bed I realised how high it was and laughed at my feet dangling in the air. I’m not used to being made to feel small, it was delightful.

We sat side by side and smiled awkwardly at each other. I reached out and took his hand in mine. Our fingers stroked against each other and I observed how wonderfully intimate just holding hands can be. Scrabbling back on the bed, I laid down, stretched diagonally, Boatman beside me and facing me. We were close but not snuggled, as such. We were feeling each other out, I felt.

Conversation never really stopped, we can talk, we do that well but the physical, well that took some tentative strokes before it flowed. I stroked his arm, then—when braver—I traced my fingers up into his hair, where I played and pulled gently as he folded his arm round me and traced circles on my back over my dress, noting my lack of bra. Intentional dress choice?


The kisses that followed were sweet and soft and gentle, long and rolling. Our mouths tested each other out, seeking and finding how we fit together, lust rising and sharpening arousal, I nipped at his lower lip and enjoyed his sharp intake of breath.

As we lay face to face I reached out for his hand again. We played, fitting fingers together, gently trailing circles over palms with thumb tips. Dipping and squeezing and mimicking more intimate entanglements.

There’s something magical in finding the way you connect with another person. How the lust burns, how the tension ebbs and flows. I didn’t want to rush. I wanted to enjoy each touch. I didn’t take anything for granted, didn’t know how far the snuggling might go, but every touch was a delight in itself.

“Can I undo your shirt?” I asked, fingers playing with the top button, after exploring the lithe plains of his chest over the crisp cotton.

“Sure,” Boatman said, “if you can manage—”

The button under my fingers popped out quite smoothly.

“Oh, they’re usually more awkward, I’m impressed!”

The next sprang free just as easily and I let the smugness out with a smile, so of course the next one stuck and we both laughed as I struggled to free it. Eventually I pulled them all open and was rewarded by a clear view of his hair smattered chest. His skin was warm under my touch, hard over the ribs and softer at the dip of his belly button.

“There’s a bit more there than I’d like,” He said with an embarrassed reluctance that made me sad to hear.

“Oh, it’s a perfectly lovely belly.” I replied, stroking and caressing it with admiration. “I do love bellies.”

“Well, this is definitely a belly!” He laughed, a hint of awkwardness lingered in his tone.

“Oh, now!” I exclaimed, “Let me show you a belly!” I rolled onto my back and pulled up the skirt of my dress, showing my lack of knickers to go with the lack of bra (planned? Maaaaayyybeee) “It’s a little ruder since I have no underwear on but THIS is a real belly!” I squidged my fat joyously in my fingers and he giggled. I felt emboldened and content to revel in my abundance but even as I revelled in my own flesh I remembered that it’s never good to make someone else feel inadequate.

“Not that I’d ever belly shame. Yours is lovely exactly as it is.”

Conversation continued as I stroked his revealed flesh, and we met mouth to mouth occasionally to capture the kisses that were so clearly hanging in the air ponderously between us. Somehow the conversation turned to bruises. It’s weird how that happens around me.

“Do you want to see some serious bruises?” I am fairly certain there was a nod or a verbal agreement but I was rather taken up in the moment of raising my skirt and showing off my peachy butt adorned with some seriously impressive bruises from my weekend beating.

“Wow!” he said, as I lay on my front, skirt held up off my flesh. “Does it hurt?”

“Oh yeah, it hurts.” I replied cockily and either at that very moment or soon after it his hand skimmed over my buttock and I whimpered. “But I kinda like it.”

Conversation had led me to believe Boatman had a little bit of a mean streak in him, a natural, sweet dominance that I could see shining through from time to time. As he stroked, poked and squeezed at my bruised arse I knew I’d woken up some inner sadist in him and I was ecstatic about it.

Squirming and writhing I pushed myself into his hands, moaning and gasping with every connection, my bottom heated and throbbing with pleasure pain as I felt the knot of arousal deeply embedded in my cunt tighten in response. As I wriggled back against his crotch, to feel his erection press into my enflamed buttocks, he whispered about people saying they were into pain.

“But I’ve never met anyone like you.” His emphatic words made me beam.

“I am a pain slut, it’s true.” I giggled, that turned to a groan as we rhythmically writhed in time, I was pressed so hard against his crotch, his hand rubbed and squeezed the outer marks on my butt and thigh, as I rolled further back into him, his lips grazed my shoulder and the back of my neck, his hand travelled over my thigh to between my legs as I eagerly opened them to his questing fingers.

We rocked together, his fingers strummed against my clit. My noises got louder and more urgent with every movement, his jean-covered cock twitched against my naked bottom, the pain of the pressure with the pleasure of his rhythmic strokes had me shaking and moaning in a tide of rolling orgasms that peaked wetly with his precise fingering and left me a shaking, panting mess of a shell of a me.

His smile, when I could open my eyes and focus was beautifully smug and lustful and sexy as hell. We cuddled together, kissed and stroked, soothed and aroused and I soon asked for permission to take off his trousers and pants, kissing down his body as I gently caressed his beautiful, hard cock. I love running my fingers softly over aroused flesh and he strained and moaned as I teasingly caressed him with the lightest of touches. I didn’t leave it at that, I’m not that mean.

In fact the pool of delicious pre-cum at the tip of his straining dick was just too tempting and I had to get my mouth around him. I sucked and devoured a while, enjoying the way his legs would flail and his toes curl in response. I pulled up with a pop and licked my lips.

“Yummy!” I exclaimed excitedly and he laughed.

“I’ve never heard ‘yummy’ before.” We both laughed as I clarified how delicious I found him whilst fisting his cock in my hand and occasionally licking and sucking at the head, just to mix it up. I loved the laughter and abundant joy in our play. Sex is fun and with Boatman it was especially light-hearted.

It became apparent he wasn’t going to come from my hand and mouth ministrations, and he verbally confirmed it was something he rarely did. I kinda regret not asking him to wank for me then, to let me see how he pleasures himself, to watch him come for me. Because I fucking love that and it would have been hot as fuck. But sometimes the best ideas dawn too late.

But it wasn’t a disappointing ending. I held him tightly and hugged him hard, the worries and cares of the day weighing heavy on his mind as pleasure rolled back. I buried his face in my boobs for a good long while but pulled back so I didn’t actually suffocate him. However I think the momentary lack of oxygen to the brain helped disperse the sads and brought back the laughter and the joy that is a hallmark of all my interactions with Boatman.

Time flew on. And I did eventually have to go, to let him sleep and to not miss the last tram home.

We messaged on my way back, a little sweet textual confirmation of the fun and flirty night we had.

Who knows what the future holds but I look forward to more interactions with this sweet, gentle, funny meanie in the making!


If you liked this lovely first date story, you can find more of Victoria’s gorgeous work at, more of Sherryl at and more sexy stories read aloud at the audio porn page. 

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