She looked at him, eating his slurpy spaghetti, nervous and happy and messy. The crinkles around his dark eyes doubled every time he smiled at her, which in turn drew a smile from her, which enchanted him into a grin, and the cycle continued.

She ordered the chocolate mousse, he ordered the vanilla bean cheesecake, and they took bites from each. She watched him swallow the sweet cream,  and then she felt his knee bump against the side of hers under the table. He apologized, even though the contact inflicted pain to only his patella. To comfort him, she reached for his leg. Her palm brushed the top of his hand and accidentally landed on his thigh. They both let out embarrassed laughs and returned to their dessert.

She stood with him outside of the restaurant in warm air of the summer night. Their cars were in opposite directions. He offered to walk her so they could keep talking. She showed him the way to the parking lot. He sat in the passenger seat, and she left the engine off, the keys in the cupholder. They reminisced about the places they had traveled separately and imagined destinations they would like to explore together. She marveled that he was discussing the future with her. He realized how long he had been stuck in the past until they had finally met that night. She told him it would not be prudent of her to catch feelings on a first date. He didn't know that was an emotion you could control, and it was already too late for him.

...

She ate most of their shared sweet potato fries the following night. He answered all of her questions with honest answers that engendered satisfaction and delight. On the park bench in the center of the outdoor mall, she allowed herself to be vulnerable about her insecurities and comparative lack of experience. He admitted that he was seeing a therapist and the sessions had helped him overcome the failure of his last relationship. She affirmed the benefits of therapy and fed him a fry. The tip of his tongue met her fingertips. She held his gaze. He leaned in and asked if he could kiss the salt from her lips. She said yes as their noses made first contact.

...

She watched Charlton Heston get ensared by a net on the flat screen in his living room. He asked if a 70s sci-fi movie on a Saturday afternoon was too geeky for a third date. She reminded him that she had chosen the DVD--which she had previously seen nine times-- from his collection, which made them both geeks, and that the Ape films started in the 60s. He snuggled closer to her on the sofa, his straight black and gray hair mingling with her dark, curly mane. She slid her arm around his torso and tapped her fingers under his Mortal Kombat t-shirt. He rested his arm on her shoulders. She felt the skin underneath his waistband. He nibbled her neck. She breathed harder. His lips reached her collarbone. She placed her hand on the top of his thigh. This time, without giggles, he moved it higher. She realized he was aroused. He decided they should confer on what they both wanted. She wanted him to go first so she could adapt her response if necessary. He wanted to respect her boundaries because he didn't want to scare her away. She told him she wasn't scared. She asked if they could touch each other all over for the moment, just using their hands. He glanced at the chimpanzees on screen and suggested they use their paws. 

Stripped down to their respective wet panties and bulging boxers, their fingertips traversed the nooks and crannies of each other's bodies. She panted as he rubbed his knuckles against her crotch with more urgency. Her whimpers increased. Lying back, she begged him to suck on her bare nipple. He latched on to her soft, brown breast while he thumbed her clit through the soaked fabric. She tried to maintain enough concentration to clasp his shaft in her fist, but when his middle finger dipped between her pussy lips, her body let out a roar that shook the dick from her hand. 

Once her trembles subsided, she sat up, her lady cum oozing on the cushion. He lay down. She lowered his boxers. He guided her strokes, long and lingering. She felt him throb, the veins pulsing from the base to his cock head. She picked up the speed. He grunted that he was close. He didn't know where to aim his load. She offered her bellybutton as a target. He stared wantonly at her dark stretch marks and spurted down her breastbone. She swiped a dollop of his goo off her chest, smeared it on her nipple, and offered him a snack. He lapped at her swollen areola, making her squirm.

As the orangutans deliberated in court on the television, she jested if consecutive orgasms on a couch was nerdy enough for him. He asked if she wanted to take a shower together and make this the best third date ever. She informed him it was too late; that level had already been achieved.

They didn't leave each other's sides until Monday morning.