It was our second date. Our first to begin in the bright light of day. We were in a pub, with the Saturday afternoon crowd. I sipped my wine and my hands shook a little. His hands were busy stroking my leg, my crotch, my hair. I felt as if everyone was looking at us disapprovingly. I felt like some kind of whore.
When we finished our drinks he shoved a note into my hand and sent me to the bar. I queried something with the barmaid and she snapped at me. Normally I wouldn’t take this personally, but today I did. I was convinced she was judging me, and my slutty behaviour. I tottered back to our seats on my heels.
Next thing I knew he was whispering in my ear.
‘There is something I want you to do’ he said.
I tensed, alert.
‘I want you to go to the toilets, take off your knickers and bring them back to me’.
I recoiled at the thought. But it was only 2pm. We had the whole afternoon, evening, night to get through. If I refused this first, arbitrary request, I may as well give up and go home.
So I found myself walking into the Ladies’, taking off my shoes, leggings and knickers. Putting my clothes back on I felt relieved that at least I wasn’t just wearing a skirt, so anyone could see what a dirty girl I was. As I walked the gauntlet back to him, I still felt all eyes were on me. I blushed in shame.
When I unravelled my fist and handed him the ball of cotton, he smiled and said: ‘good girl. Now drink up it’s time to go’.
As we walked out of the pub he slapped my arse. Not hard, but enough so the blokes stood at the bar noticed. He led his whore away, back to his house, where the serious business was about to begin.