Rose is a great kid, and by kid of course I mean someone who also remembers the Nixon administration. She is divorced, raising a son, and works as a financial assistant for a Bay Area firm.
I met Rose on Tinder a month or so back, and we quickly hit it off. I always know I’m going to like a woman when I tell her I’m married and playing with permission, and I don’t get the door slammed in my face. If memory serves, the conversation went like this:
Me: “Let me give you a key piece of information. I’m in an open marriage, with permission to play, and I am here looking for FWBs. Let me know if that’s something you would be at all interested in.”
Rose: “It intrigues me - would your wife or other FWBs be involved?”
That’s my kind of response. (And that actually was her verbatim reply; I just now scrolled through my Tinder feed to check.)
Needless to say the conversation went interesting places from there. Likes, dislikes, fantasies, desires, and of course the inevitable arranging to get a drink. We picked a time and place for the following week, and she did some dress shopping in the meantime. She found something perfect - short and slinky, showing plenty of cleavage. I was well impressed.
As we were gearing up for our date and discussing our respective wardrobes - well, okay, discussing her wardrobe - I did have one instruction. She was to wear panties. I wasn’t particular about what type or color, but she wasn’t to go commando. Because there’s one move I’ve always wanted to try but never managed to make happen - the panty dare.
I picked her up and we made the short drive to a nice local bar and restaurant. We sat side-by-side at a table in the bar. It was comfortably crowded, and there were several tables of people in the restaurant seated facing directly toward us. We were in the middle of the action.
We ordered drinks, enjoyed some appetizers, and chatted about our lives. All the while I was waiting for just the right moment. Maybe 30 minutes into our date, when we were both feeling comfortable, I leaned over to her and said, “Okay, take off your panties and hand them to me. Right now.”
In full disclosure, she knew this moment was coming as I had given her advanced notice during our Tinder conversations. And she was looking forward to it almost as much as I had been. She scanned the restaurant to see if anyone was looking, then reached down and hiked up her skirt. She hooked her thumbs into her panties and pulled them down her thighs, over her knees, and - right in the middle of the bar, pulled them down past her shoes. After hiking her skirt back down, she handed them to me, and I tucked them carefully into my pocket for safekeeping.
There was surprisingly little commotion in the bar, and if anyone had seen it (and how could they not?) they were being sufficiently discrete not to make a scene. So we decided to amp it up a notch. Or I should say, she decided to amp it up a notch. Spotting two men sitting facing us at a table in the restaurant, she decided to pull a full Sharon Stone on them.
Which she proceeded to do. Again the other patrons were being polite, discrete, or oblivious, so I decided to do a little reconnaissance of my own. Excusing myself to visit the restroom, I returned via a route that had me walk directly toward Rose from the front - and in the process I could see her flashing her beautiful, pink, shaved pussy. Clear as the light of day from across the restaurant.
I knew at that point it was going to be a good evening. That dirty girl.