He liked how Melissa was making him feel closer to her. At one point he could actually feel wetness on the tip of his prick and he wondered if he were going to stain the inside of his tight jockey shorts and what would happen if this were discovered.

He wondered if she wore panties. The mere thought of her underwear was positively thrilling to him. The way Melissa would cross and uncross her long legs, the brief glimpses he'd get of her silky stockings, her heels, her thighs, the way Melissa would sigh as they talked; it was highly stimulating to him.

Steve had never been with a woman before, much less one so much older than him. It made him feel very good. And yet, he was unsure of himself, frightened by what he feared she would perceive as his inadequacy.

In his imagination, of course, he had always been strong and virile, so that when he masturbated to images of himself with women, he was always the dominant one, taking them by force and possibly even unawares. Then he would pump his cock in and out of them, as they limply gave in, overwhelmed completely by his raw masculinity.

But that was his imagination. What would it be like in real life? he wondered.

Steve couldn't forget the image of Melissa playing with herself in the box in the loge. He could still see her hand rummaging around inside her skirt. He could imagine the damnedest things happening, and as the time passed, he found himself feeling more and more unafraid of her; in fact, his courage was growing in leaps and bounds.

Melissa had almost finished her glass of beer, but before the last of it washed down her throat, she passed the glass to Steve. As he sipped, he could taste her lipstick rippled on the rim of the glass. It tasted sweet. He liked it. When he put the glass back on the table, their eyes met.