Woman of my dreams is making me the woman of my dreams (pt 1)

I met Amber one day while I was out at the beach. She was so far out of my league – a 5’4” slender and toned stance and exquisitely tanned body with a bikini that left very little to the imagination. She was unbelievably hot, so it was no surprise that I was tongue tied when she walked past me and stopped to say hello. But my social awkwardness seemed to delight her, and I soon opened up. We hit it off - and I somehow found enough alcohol to work up the courage to ask her for her number.

That was 6 months ago. It took a month or two of talking and working up the nerve before I asked her out. She giggled, and asked what took me so long.

On our first date, she explained how she has had several quick relationships, and just wanted to settle down and take her time, and move SLOWLY. I took that as a hint that sex would not be on the menu anytime soon, which I was fine with. I would wait years to be with her if I had to.

We went on a few more dates before the rituals began… making out while “Netflix and chilling”, but I always let her set the pace. I didn’t want to seem pushy, or demanding.

After a few months of dating, it started getting a bit more serious – talks started springing up about our futures, and meeting parents and the like. One evening, I took her out “for dinner” (or so she thought) but surprised her with a group of her close friends to see her favorite local band. As we were dancing along on the dance floor, she started grinding her hips into me while giving me an evil little grin over her shoulder. I knew I passed the final task – it was going to happen.

As the night went on, and I kept seeing her down more and more ‘sex on the beach’ cocktails, my hopes started to flutter away. I figured she would be too drunk to do anything, and boy was I right. By the time the show was over, she was barely able to stand and walk. So I carried her to our Lyft that was waiting to take us home, said bye to all her friends, and headed to her apartment.