LITMIR.BIZ

      A Red Carnation

      Monica Belle

      ‘Remember, I’ll be wearing a red carnation.’

      Gemma smiled. It was a wonderfully old-fashioned touch, and most things old-fashioned appealed to her, at least when it came to men. Too many were either pushy, or needy, or just plain crazy, but John had behaved like a gentleman from the start and as she got up from the computer she had crossed her fingers in hope that he might at last prove to be the right one. If so, she reflected, it was about time. John would be her twenty-first internet date. Of the previous twenty, twelve had been unsuitable for one reason or another, five had failed to turn up at all, and three had looked so awful that she’d sneaked away from the rendezvous instead of introducing herself.

      Those last three had taught her an important lesson, to always make sure that she could pick him out from a crowd but not vice versa. John seemed nice, gentlemanly but masculine too, with a touch of the paternal that gave her a pleasant sensation of weakness, but then she’d felt the same way about Ian. Online Ian had been suave, voluble and firm without ever going over the boundary, while his pictures had shown a tall, slim man in early middle age, with an intelligent face and a touch of grey at his temples. When she had arrived at the pub where they’d agreed to meet she’d found the same man, but in the sixty-year-old edition, with a bulbous red nose and no hair at all, while his hand had been on her knee and sneaking slowly up her skirt within five minutes of meeting.

      She went to make coffee, her tummy still tight after her conversation with John and her mind racing for the possibilities he offered. It had been a long time, far too long, and for all her need for a gentle but firm seduction by a man under complete self-control she found her thoughts turning to more earthy matters: the feel of strong, masculine hands on her body, the sense of utter vulnerability once her legs were wide and his weight was on top of her and, most of all, the feel of a thick excited cock easing into her vagina. Back at the computer she logged on to her favourite social networking site in an effort to concentrate on something other than the sense of need in her head and between her thighs, but nobody she really wanted to talk to was online and she quickly gave up. She closed her eyes as she unfastened her jeans, speaking to herself as she slipped a hand down the front of her panties.

      ‘You are a disgrace, Gemma, but never mind. One last time and then I’ll have a man, with any luck. Please, God, let this be the one.’

      * * *

      The knot in Gemma’s stomach had been growing tighter with every clack of the train’s wheels. It had always been the same, with every date, her tension rising throughout the journey to reach a peak when the moment came to meet her man. Instead of fading, the sensation had been growing worse, and this time was no exception. What had begun as a fairly casual exercise after the break-up of her marriage had grown ever more desperate, her need ever greater, the disappointment of failure ever sharper. Still she was determined not to compromise, and to present herself as well as she possibly could. For John, and an evening out in the city centre, she had perfected her hair and make-up before slipping into a pair of lacy, figure-hugging panties, which left no trace of their presence beneath the indigo silk of her evening gown, along with sheer stockings and heels to match her dress. Even with a coat on over the top she was drawing glances, some merely curious but many admiring, which gave a much-needed boost to her confidence as she stepped from the train.