A black girl named Aisha

The profile picture was of a young, curvaceous black woman named Aisha. Her profile had an extensive list of kinks, while her only hard limits were scat and age-play. Fair enough, I have no interest in those either. Her profile listed her age at twenty-one, just a year Joyseph's junior. Her profile pics were all well-taken and elegant, as if taken professionally.

Aisha herself seemed exactly my type. She had generous curves, large breasts and broad hips, like a fertility goddess from the ancient past. And she had extensive tattoos, mostly hearts, flowers, and geometric patterns, in simple line-art. Her long, kinky hair fell in a chaotic yet appealing mass. Her skin was dark, slightly glossy, like worn onyx.

One message from her, my his inbox.

hi. my name is aisha. We have similar kinks and you are hot. i think we could be good togeather. i'm free tomorrow and i'm getting coffee at the place on 9th and robert street at noon. come if you want. we can Play later if we like each other. bring a cosume. something formal, rich-looking, and old-looking. i will bring the toys.

The lack of capitalization were in the original. Well, I thought with a glance to my empty calendar, nothing better to do. I stood up from bed, leaning on his cane. Despite being only in his mid-twenties, I had fucked-up his knee a few years ago during an incident and it had, stubbornly, refused to heal. One of my freinds had says it had makes look 'distinguished', but I had my doubts. I had insisted on remaining physically active despite it, though leaning on it had caused my muscles and stance to grow asymetrical.

I packed a backpack with some things. There were the standard hookup acessories- a box of condoms and the paper-work from my last STD screening, a spare toothbrush in case I was invited to stay the night.

It had never been necessary.

Per her instructions, I also packed a set of dress-clothes.

*****

I heard her before he saw her, drumming her fingers on the thin meta table with a sound like rain on the roof. She sipped from her cup and typed furiously on a beat-up sticker-covered laptop, hot-swapping between a dozen tabs without ever touching the mouse-pad. She wore the same orange lace-up blouse and torn black jeans.

"Hello? Aisha?"

She looked up at me, her hazy eyes glassy. "Hello, Joyseph" She said, before looking back to her screen. Her tone was strangely flat, though she was also the only person who had ever pronounced my name right on the first try. "I would prefer to use my appartment for this. My room-mate should be elsewhere today. We can play however we want."

Play. Interesting choice of words.

"What? No small talk?" I said, smiling broadly. She did not smile back.

"I don't like small talk. I like role-play, sex, and sexual role-playing" she said, in her same flat tone, in the very crowded coffee shop.

My skin crawled as I felt the other customer's gazes on me. It crawled as if it wished to rip itself free and flee the scene.

"Are you almost finished with your coffee?"

She sipped. "Chai tea with whipped cream and spice."

"Pumpkin spice?"

"Cayanne." She took one last sip, before standing, walking to the trash can, droping the cup in, and sitting back down, with slow, delibearte motions. I noticed that she was taller than she looked in her picture, a head taller than him, not counting her full-bodied hair. She closed her laptop, sliding it into a backpack. "I am finished now. My apartment is this way."

She paused when she stood next to him, looking him over. "You look nice. Thank you for coming."

She walked out the door, and I followed closely behind her. Her body was as curvaceous and delightful as her personality was flat and abrasive. I felt something bubbling in my chest. Guilt? Desire? Both? It felt tight and bitter, like a hook, sunk through my chest and wrapped around my spine, dragging me along like a fish on a line.

She was clearly in excelent shape, beneath her curves, her muscles pulsing as she walked, especially in her ass. It finally sunk in that I would possibly be having sex with this woman within a few hours. I tried wrapping my mind around it, but could not. I was hardy blushing virgin, but it had been quite a while.

I moved as fast as I could, on my cane. The knee ached dully in complaint.

She left a trail of scent behind her, floral and astringent. Intense and distinct, but neither pleasant nor unpleasant. She glanced over her shoulder to see that he was still following, though her face was as flat as before.