Chapter 5: Home with Ben

It was a Thursday night when I returned to Ben’s place to make dinner to go with the Chianti. I made the ragù (tomato sauce) from scratch, filling his kitchen with wonderful aromas. To go with it, I boiled up some tagliatelle (flat, narrow noodles)—no, not from scratch. The sauce was where my efforts would pay off.

Topped with shredded parmesan cheese, I placed the dish in front of him with a flourish.

“Bon appétit, Ben.”

Politely waiting for me to join him at the table, Ben took his fork and dug in.

“È molto delizioso!”

“Ben, parli italiano?”

“Sì, un pochino.”

“Well, dog my cats, Ben, I wasn’t expecting that; ‘very delicious’ and ‘yes, a little bit’ are at the limit of my abilities.”

“But your skills in la cucina, the kitchen, are unbelievable, Iris.”

He gave me a suspicious look.

“Are you trying to convince me to let you move in?”

“Um, not exactly. I made a triple recipe of this: some for your fridge and some for your freezer. I’m hoping you’ll think of me when you have the leftovers.”

“You can be sure I will. But you said not exactly?”

“The other thing I want you to remember comes after dessert. I brought vanilla gelato; it’s creamy Italian ice cream.”

I brought him a bowl.

“The specks are tiny bits of real vanilla bean. The flavor is real, not artificial.”

“Oh, wow. You spoil me, Iris.”

“I’m just getting started.”

I untied and put aside my apron, then I slipped off my blouse.

“You’re a miracle.”

“Not exactly, Ben. You still have to clean up this kitchen.”

“Of course I do. I wouldn’t dream of asking you to clean up after this masterpiece.”

“I’m cooking up something else for you tonight, Ben.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, if you can get this fucking contraption off my poor tits, we can get started.”

Honestly, I was perfectly capable of unbinding myself. It was just more fun having Ben help me. And then, while he was behind me, I bent at the waist and rubbed my ass against his pants, just to confirm his erection.

“Let’s finish undressing in the bedroom.”

“After you, beautiful.”

“You just want to watch my ass.”

“Why wouldn’t I? It’s perfect.”

I walked away, complaining.

“It’s too big ... What, you agree?”

“Sorry, I was distracted. What did you say?”

“Ben! Never mind.”

I didn’t believe he hadn’t heard me, but still ... In the bedroom, I stepped out of my sandals, skimmed off my pants and undies, and turned toward Ben. He was just standing there, watching me. No, studying me.

“What? I’m the same old Iris.”

“You’re a goddess. Perfection.”

“If you want me to believe you, you should be undressing. You expect me to feed you AND undress you too?”