Chapter 7: Sunday Evening

We eventually woke up, both hungry and ready to put aside our bedroom activities for something to eat. We’d only had the bowls of soup since breakfast, a whole lot of hours ago. I guess we’d been “otherwise engaged.”

Actually, what we really wanted to do was lie in bed and cuddle ‘n’ stuff, but our stomachs forced us to abandon that course of action. We extricated ourselves from bed (and from each other) and headed to the kitchen.

And, as before, Jen seemed to know exactly what needed to be done.

“Do we...” (not you) “ ... still have some of the ground beef left?”

“Yeah − got an idea?”

She began opening doors and looking in cabinets. “Good! We have rice, and I know there’s cheese in the fridge and ... oh, cocktail olives − awesome!” And, yes, I remembered that, like most guys, I had a dust-covered jar of pimento-stuffed cocktail olives buried in the back of a kitchen cabinet.

She looked through my modest collection of pots and pans until she found a skillet and lid that would be right for what she had in mind, then instructed me, “Can you put a little oil in here and then start cooking the beef – just get it stared, don’t brown it, we’re going to cook it some more later. Here – some salt and pepper.”

She opened the door to the cabinet with the spices, but she wasn’t quite tall enough to see everything in it. “Dave – any chance you have some thyme?”

“Yes, ground and leaf.” Thank heaven again for that old housewarming present!

“Leaf is perfect! Can you reach it for me?”

I got the small, slightly-dusty jar down and handed it to her, and she sprinkled “just the right amount” on the sizzling beef – and then, just a pinch more.

Then she told me the plan. “Well need some liquid for the rice. I (I) could make some bullion, but what might be really good is if you have some tomato juice.”

“V-8?”

“Perfect!’

And then she said, “I love you, Dave,” and pulled me down for a quick kiss.

I thought, “I could get used to this.” And then, “I’d like to get used to this.”

And by now, you’ve probably ascertained my dilemma. This little girl – well, not so little anymore – just might be ... Let me approach it a different way: In all my years – well, not that many, but you know − I’ve never enjoyed anyone’s company as much as I have this weekend. And with all my girlfriends – well, again, not that many – but that includes the woman I was married to for almost three years – I’ve never experienced the caring I have these past two days. And despite all the – well, let’s face it – all the perverted things Jen and I have done with and to each other, I don’t think I’ve ever experienced such feelings of tenderness toward another person.

So, what I’m trying to deal with is the possibility that this might be the woman I’ve been looking for all my life – except, of course, for the part where she isn’t really a woman, but a 14-year-old girl. What the heck do I do with that?

“Okay, Dave, let’s put the rice and juice in and put the lid on and let the rice cook for 20 minutes. Then we’ll check it. Right now, I could use a hair dryer – got one?”

I did. Then, “While I’m drying, could you get out...” – a pause to calculate – “... six slices of cheese. Oh, and could you slice maybe a dozen or so olives – you’ll love ‘em, you’ll see!”

Another quick kiss on the cheek, and I was left to separate cheese slices, cut olives, and otherwise manage dinner, which required no management at all, and to reflect on – everything.

Jen returned, dried and combed and fluffed, and declared that it was time to check the beef and rice mix. She grabbed a cooking spoon and dug it into the beef and rice, sampled, and declared that it was just right.

“Do you want to lay out the cheese, or the olives?”

We took turns – she’d lay a cheese slice on top of the beef-and-rice, and I’d spot three olive slices on the cheese. When we finished, the whole thing looked very accomplished, indeed. Despite the fact that the ‘recipe’ was like something out of a cookbook for new brides or bachelors or college kids, it looked like a picture from out of a recipe book, or like the cover photo from a cooking magazine. It was that good.

While we were happy and chatty when we were making dinner, we were kind of quiet while we ate. I think that the awareness that this was going to be the last dinner we would make and eat together hung over the dining table like a cloud.

We shared, we enjoyed (milk, no wine), and despite our somber mood, the whole thing felt so freakin’ domestic, just sitting there, next to each other, enjoying the meal we had made together. It felt good. Confusing, but good.

Our “skillet casserole” was so good, in fact, that Jen even took a second helping, but finally we finished and cleaned up the table and the dishes and put away the leftovers (I convinced Jen to prepare a container to take home with her so she could show her mom what we had made).

We were still kind of quiet, so I turned on the TV, to see what could possibly be happening on a snowy Sunday and, hopefully, to get some news on the school closing situation. We were able to catch the local news right at the beginning, when they announce the school information. For our district, the high school would be resuming at 12:30 Monday, but all elementary and middle schools would remain closed ‘til Tuesday morning. That meant no school for Jen tomorrow, which was pleasing news to both of us.

The news was pretty uneventful, so we turned it off and decided that a funny movie was just what the two of us needed right now. We were lucky. When Harry Met Sally was just starting on one of the “basic cable” channels, and I thought that that might be just the thing. It’s a really well-crafted comedy that depicts the up’s and down’s of a long-term friendship; and the quirks and foibles of the two main characters make it hilarious. I did have to pause the show to explain to Jen what was happening in the scene in the deli where Meg Ryan’s Sally shows Billy Crystal’s Harry just how easy it is for a woman to convincingly fake an orgasm. Once Jen understood what that was about, she really broke up because, she now understood what the older woman at the other table meant when she told her server, “I’ll have what she’s having.” (I’ve read that the woman is the mother of director Rob Reiner.)

Anyhow, the movie worked, and the kind-of glum mood that had settled on both of us earlier was completely gone. So well had the movie done its job that Jen suggested that “Maybe we could get back in the bed for a little while?”

“Once again, Jen, you’ve just mentioned one of my new very favorite things to do.”

We slipped out of our “dinner apparel” and slipped into the – our – bed. It was just so nice to have a naked Jen lying against me, sometimes draping and arm or a leg – or both – over me, sometimes snuggling into me, other times turning me so she could snuggle up behind me and hold me while we lay there.

But you this tender interlude was unlikely to last. “Dave?”

“Yes, Hon.”

“I was just thinking of what we were looking at this afternoon...”

I’ll bet.

“ ... and I was thinking that, maybe, if you want to, you could do some of the things like we saw in the videos...”

I was going to tease her a bit by saying something like, “Oh – and you were thinking that would be something that I’d want to do?” But I thought better of it. I didn’t want to do – or say – anything that might make Jen feel that I might not want to do something with – for her.

“Y’know, I was thinking about that very thing.”

“So ... what do we do ... how do we start?”

“Well, we could start with what we’ve already done. You know that sometimes, when I’ve been licking your pussy, I’ve moved my tongue down and licked your butthole – even tried to stick my tongue in a little, and you seemed to like it.”

“Yeah, I guess I did, so I guess that means I do, huh?”

Yes, my precious darling, I guess it does mean that.

Instead of having Jen move into some kind of ‘special’ position, I thought the easiest way might be to “take it from the top,” and do it the way we had at the beginning – when she first asked me to kiss her goodnight. I rolled toward her and gently kissed her forehead, which I think took her kind of by surprise. Then, as I had done that first night, I moved down and kissed her lips. This, she was ready for. She met my kiss, softly, then more firmly, relaxing her lips a little, then licking my lips on the way to probing a bit farther, into my mouth. I sucked gently on the tip of her tongue, then returned the favor by pressing my tongue into her mouth a little, and the sucked its tip, and with her own tongue, she played with it a bit.

And this more-or-less innocent kissing felt terribly intimate to me. I hoped Jen was feeling that, too.