Oh shit. I didn't even think about work. :-O

I grin to myself. Luckily! Otherwise, I may not have known it’s her.

Amelia

Fixed it :-)

I press a few buttons on my screen and Amelia's profile pops up. It is now a close up of her cat and she is no longer visible.

Me

So now you have a pussy as a profile picture LOL

Amelia

Oh. :-0

What I would give to see her now! I gaze out of the large window at the city. This nagging sense of guilt is getting stronger and stronger the longer we chat . I've got to come clean about who I am. I need to. The more I delay it, the worse it's going to be when we finally meet.

Me

Can I ask you something?

Amelia

Sure

Me

Do you want to have dinner with me?

6

Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight)

Amelia

The smell in the ladies toilet is pungent to say the least. Our office is not in the nicest building and the bathrooms are shared with other companies on our floor. As with most communal spaces, nobody bothers keeping them nice and tidy. I try not to breathe through my nose when I enter the first cubicle. Samira positions herself outside with my washbag and a new top in hand.

"I still can't believe you’re meeting with this guy. What if he ties you up and spanks you?" she whisper-shouts and giggles.

"In the middle of a restaurant?" I reply without admitting that I have had that thought a few times as well. "Besides, he’s a pleasure dom," I mumble under my breath as I pull my cardigan and T-shirt over my head.

"Right, he only cares about your pleasure. Sounds like a pickup line to me. When have you ever met a man that cares about your pleasure first?" she argues and there’s a thud on the door. I hold out my hand over the top of the cubicle and Samira presses the silky material of the top I ordered earlier this week into my hand.

Fine, yes, I ordered a new outfit for this date, but my wardrobe almost entirely consists of black or grey T-shirts and muted coloured cardigans. I have to make an effort, right?

"Well, I googled it and everything he said matches what I read online." The blue top slides over my body and fans out over my hips. I stare down at my breasts that are quite prominent in this outfit. The top is low cut and the new bra is lifting my big boobs up making them almost jump out of the top.

"I can't wear this," I sigh.

"Why?" Samira replies. "Let me see!" I unlock the cubicle and open the door a little so she can peek through the gap.

"My bra is showing." I point where a little bit of lace is sticking out from underneath the collar.

"This is why you have these." She wedges my toiletry bag between her knees and holds up a packet of little strips. She peels off the protective layer on one side of the strip and sticks it to the exposed skin on the top of my boob. Then she fiddles with the remaining protective layer of the double-sided tape, pulls my top up a little and smashes it onto the sticky side. The material of the top now sticks to my boob. For how long though, that is another question .

"Now do the same on the other side," she demands and pushes me back into the cubicle.

“For someone who isn’t sure if I should meet this guy you are pushing quite hard,” I giggle.

“Hey, I’m just glad you’re getting yourself out there for once. Maybe when the pleasure man turns out to be a weirdo you’ll run into your prince charming who’ll rescue you.”

“Are we still getting rescued in this day and age?” I retort, ripping off the sticky strip I had just placed on my breast because it was too high. “Fuck!” I swear loudly. This was almost more painful than when I once ripped my eyebrow off with a peel off mask… by mistake.

“There’s nothing wrong with accepting help.” Samira’s voice comes from further away.

It's fiddlier than I thought, but eventually I get the double-sided tape in place and the other side of my top is also secured to my breast. When I open the cubicle door, Samira inspects me from head to toe.

"You look amazing," she grins.

"Let's not exaggerate. I look okay, I guess," I catch sight of myself in the mirror. The top is more form fitting than what I normally wear. A belt is cinching it in the waist, giving me kind of an hourglass figure. A big hourglass, that is.

"No, you look beautiful. And don't forget, he’s seen what you look like. He’s the one that is hiding half his face. I mean, he might have a monobrow." She crunches up her nose.

I laugh, " You know what, I'm not sure I’d care. He’s nice."

"He could have a Satan tattoo on his forehead," she muses. "Or be bald."

"No, you can see some of his hair in the picture," I giggle.

"Just promise me you’ll be careful and you’ll keep texting me so I know he hasn't dragged you off to his dungeon," she says with genuine concern in her voice. I grab my toiletry bag from her hands and take out a brush.

"Sure," I promise as I bend over and awkwardly try to blow dry my fringe with the hand dryer. I have a natural wave to my hair and after a day in the office my fringe sticks in all directions.

I pull out some of the makeup I bought on my lunch break and start painting it on. I don't usually wear makeup, just some mascara, but the last thing a pleasure dom will be interested in is a plain Jane.

"Wow, you look like... I don't know—" Samira is staring at me in the mirror. I can see her biting her lips. Yes, I look ridiculous. I don't look like me.

"I look like a drag queen," I sigh.

"Maybe a tiny bit," Samira giggles.

"Oh fuck it," I grab a face wipe and take all the makeup off again before putting some mascara on. There, that's me. Take it or leave it Ben.

It's ten to five. That's not too early. That's not too eager, right? I walk into the restaurant which is still fairly quiet this early in the evening. My eyes scan the room, although I'm not sure why. I don't know what he looks like. "I'll find you," he said. Oh, he is so going to ghost me.

My eyes move from table to table. Then I freeze. Fuck. What is he doing here? A hot flash shoots through me. I'm not sure if it is residual anger or sheer panic. I ought to avert my gaze, but he's caught my eye, and I just can't tear myself away. Panic wells up in me. There, at the far end of the restaurant, sits the man who broke my heart so thoroughly that it messed me up for years. Benjamin Whitmore. I haven't seen him since that fateful day almost twenty years ago and I had hoped to never see him again in my life. I was good at avoiding him even when we lived in the same village.