Sue’s After-Dark Diaries: A Blind Date in the Rain

For My Curious Readers

Darlings, grab a glass of wine, dim the lights, and settle in. Tonight’s diary entry is dripping with more than just suggestion, it’s positively soaked. What was supposed to be a civilised blind date, complete with dinner and a fancy-dress party, turned into something wildly unforgettable. The story of Sue’s After-Dark Diaries: A Blind Date in the Rain isn’t about polite conversation or safe endings. Oh no, this is about tuxedos, teasing, the heavens opening, and me discovering just how far chemistry can go when passion collides with a thunderstorm.

The Bistro Beginning

Blind dates. Two little words that can either mean butterflies or absolute horror and I’ve had both. One memorable disaster involved a man who brought his mother, “I know, right”. Another spent the entire evening explaining the nutritional superiority of chia seeds. But this time? This time I was feeling bold and daring.

My friend Harriet promised me she’d found me a winner. “A real gentleman,” she insisted, “with cheekbones sharp enough to slice cheese.” Well, I do adore dairy, so how could I resist?

Naturally, I had to make an entrance because life’s too short to be predictable. My outfit? A perfectly tailored black tuxedo jacket, sleek trousers, fake white cuffs and collar, and nothing underneath. Yes, darling, nothing underneath, it was skin against silk, curves against seams and with the delicious danger that one wrong move could reveal everything.

When I walked into the bistro, there he was. My blind date.

And Harriet wasn’t lying. Handsome didn’t quite cut it. Broad shoulders, jawline carved from temptation itself, and eyes that drank me in with a spark that made my knees consider surrendering at first sight.

“Well,” he said, standing with a smile that could melt glaciers, “you’re not what I expected.”

“Darling,” I purred, offering my hand, “I never am.”

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Dinner with a Side of Suggestion

From the moment the waiter filled our glasses, the chemistry buzzed like a live wire. Menus? Forgotten. Table candles? Flickering accomplices.

“So,” he leaned closer, “this outfit… it’s unusual.”

“Unusual?” I raised an eyebrow. “That’s code for indecent, isn’t it?”

“Let’s just say it makes me wonder what’s underneath.” His grin was pure sin.

I let my jacket part just enough to hint, brushing my cuff with exaggerated elegance. “Darling, curiosity is the only appetiser worth having.”

And so we danced, verbally and visually. He teased, I countered. He brushed my hand across the table, and I pretended not to shiver. Risotto arrived, rich and creamy, though I barely tasted it. I was too busy drinking him in. His shirt hugged his frame in all the right places, and every time he leaned forward, I thought about how much better he’d look without it.

He spoke of his work and something about design, maybe finance? Honestly, I caught about three words. I was too distracted imagining those clever fingers tugging at my cuffs. When I told him my “passion lay in tuxedos and trouble,” he laughed so hard the waiter nearly toppled the dessert cart.

By the time the bill arrived, we were already plotting our next stop: Harriet’s beloved fancy-dress party. Clearly, she had matchmaking in mind from the start. Sneaky girl.

Heaven Opens

Arm in arm, we stepped out into the night… straight into the apocalypse.

Rain didn’t fall, it hurled itself at us. Sheets of water cascaded from the sky as though God Himself had left the taps on. My tuxedo went from chic to second-skin in three seconds flat. His crisp shirt transformed into a scandalous showcase of everything it had been hiding.

“Run!” he laughed, grabbing my hand.

We bolted through puddles, slipping, sliding, laughing so hard I could barely breathe. My hair plastered, mascara smeared into a tragicomic work of art. His hair dripped, his smile wicked, his grip on my hand tight enough to promise he wouldn’t let go.

We darted into a side alley, pressed against the wall, both gasping for breath. The storm howled around us, water rushing in rivulets down the cobblestones.

“You look-” he began, eyes devouring me.

“Like a drowned rat?” I teased, coughing rainwater out of my mouth.

“No,” he said, voice low, steady, and hungry. “Like the best bad idea I’ve ever had.”

And that’s when it happened.

The Alleyway Affair 

Rain hammered down, soaking me to the skin, plastering my tuxedo jacket to every curve it was meant to conceal. The cuffs drooped, the collar clung, and the trousers stuck like a second skin. Every inch of me was outlined, and every inch of him was pressed against me.

When his mouth crashed onto mine, it wasn’t polite. It was hunger. His lips demanded, his tongue claimed, his hands pulled me apart like he’d been waiting his whole life for a downpour and a half-dressed woman in a backstreet.

My jacket peeled open, rainwater slicking his palms as they cupped my breast, nipples tight and aching beneath his touch. He groaned into my mouth, pressing me harder to the wall, his body all heat and hardness in a world suddenly drenched in cold.

And God, I felt him. The solid length of him straining against wet trousers, grinding against my hips with no shame, no restraint. It made me gasp, legs trembling, want flooding through me so sharp it almost hurt.

“You’re mad,” he growled into my ear, biting my neck.

“I prefer unforgettable,” I moaned, clawing at his shirt until it tore, buttons scattering into the gutter.

When Desire Becomes the Storm

He shoved my trousers down just enough, my breath catching at the shock of cool air mixed with the heat of him. His fingers teased, sliding slick with rain and arousal, finding me wet in every possible way.

“God, Sue,” he muttered, voice ragged, “you’re ready for me.”

“Darling,” I gasped, nails digging into his back, “stop talking and…”

And he did. Hard, fast, no hesitation. He pushed into me in one desperate thrust, filling me so deep I cried out, the sound lost to thunder. My back scraped the brick, my jacket slipped open completely, and the rain became nothing but background to the raw rhythm of us.

He drove into me like the storm itself, he was relentless, wild and pounding. Each thrust made the wall shudder, each groan tangled with the storm’s roar. My legs wrapped around him, pulling him deeper, harder, until I couldn’t tell where the rain ended and he began.

I bit his shoulder to keep from screaming, tasting water and salt, my whole body vibrating with each brutal, beautiful movement.

“You feel…” he groaned, slamming into me, “…incredible.”

“Harder,” I begged, breathless, “make me forget the rain.”

He did. His hips slammed, his mouth devoured mine, his hand slipped beneath my jacket to grip, squeeze, claim. The alley was ours, it was messy, frantic, and wicked.

And when I shattered, it was raw and reckless, my cry ripped from my throat as the rain pelted down. He followed, groaning my name into my neck as his body bucked, his release spilling into me in perfect, desperate rhythm.

We clung to each other, panting, dripping, trembling, as the storm washed us clean and left us ruined. My jacket hung open, cuffs soaked, collar undone, trousers half down. His shirt was shredded, hair plastered, chest heaving.

We looked at each other, wild and laughing, and I thought: So much for a fancy dress party.

The Party That Never Was

By the time we stumbled back onto the street, the rain had eased into a drizzle. My outfit was a glorious mess my jacket sagging, trousers clinging, cuffs drooping like drowned curtains. He looked no better, shirt torn, chest bare, hair dripping into his eyes.

We could have gone on to Harriet’s fancy-dress party, of course. Turned up looking like we’d lost a fight with a fire hydrant. But honestly? After what just happened, who cared about cocktails and costumes?

We hailed a cab instead. The driver gave us a once-over, smirked knowingly, and didn’t say a word. I suppose he’d seen it all before, but somehow, I doubt he’d seen anything quite like us.

Sue’s Reflections

So what did I learn from my blind date in the rain?

1. Trust your best friend’s matchmaking if cheekbones are mentioned.

2. A tuxedo with nothing underneath is the kind of gamble that pays off.

3. Rain doesn’t ruin a date. It baptises it in wickedness.

Sometimes, darlings, the best nights are the unplanned ones. The ones where dessert is skipped, mascara runs, and you discover that a dark alley in a storm can be more unforgettable than any five-star hotel.

This date? One for the diary. One for the ages. And most certainly, one that left me craving the next storm.

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