I was eager, anxious, excited, frustrated, and a little bit confused. I tried to sort it all out in my head, but the only clear thought I had was of her. Kate. How had I attached so many emotions to one person? I hadn't felt this way since the eighth grade!

I'd pursued women before, but I'd always known more about them, where I could find them, what they liked. Kate was a mystery. I didn't even know her last name. She knew me no better. Well, perhaps a little better, I thought to myself, as I remembered the feeling of her hand wrapped around my erection.

The one thing I knew about her, the one solid thing, was when I'd see her next. Tuesday. I knew she'd be at the Jazz Club, I never had any serious doubts, and I found my certainty curious. Unfortunately, I'd had plenty of time to think about why I was so certain. The days until Tuesday dragged by, one plodding hour after another.

Each day by noon, I'd finished every last bit of work that I had to do. There were only three other people in the office, so I used the time in the afternoons to do my Christmas shopping. Despite being a bachelor, I had a fairly extensive list of people on my gift list: my brother and his wife, their two kids, my mother, my father and his wife, college-age cousins (girls) that I was close to, Gabriel, the girls in the office, servers and bartenders at the Jazz Club, the list seemed to go on and on.

I did about half my shopping online--thank God for Amazon.com-- and the rest of it in the large local malls. In order to distract myself from thoughts of Kate, I even made the 45-minute trip to the largest tourist trap in this part of the state, which contained no fewer than four major outlet malls and a whole host of smaller ones. Everyone and their cousin seemed to be out shopping, and the traffic was mind-numbing. I love the holiday season, but I hate the crowds. I love buying gifts, though, perhaps as much as I enjoy giving them.

I'd even toyed with the idea of getting Kate a gift. While I was shopping for everyone else, she was constantly on my mind. I stopped in a jewelry store to look at watches for my mother. Would Kate like jewelry? In my mind, I pictured her wearing a nice string of pearls, and nothing else. The salesman gave me a funny look as I fondled the string and smiled to myself. Kate wore a ring on her right ring finger, but nothing else that I'd noticed. Reluctantly, I ruled out jewelry. Too personal, too soon.

I walked past the Godiva store and decided to step inside. I bought half-pound boxes for the servers at the Jazz Club, one- pound boxes for the girls in the office. I looked over the boxes of truffles, and thought about Kate's lips wrapped around... Well, by the time the harried salesgirl got my attention, I wasn't thinking about Kate's lips and truffles. I decided against chocolate. Too sappy.

When I passed the Victoria's Secret store, I simply had to enter, even though I couldn't imagine giving anyone on my list something from Victoria's Secret. No one, that is, except perhaps Kate. And she wasn't even really on my list.

In spite of the fact that there was a decent crowd of shoppers in the store, I quickly had a salesgirl at my side. Her nametag read "Eve."

"Is there something I can help you find?" she asked smoothly. She was young, perhaps 25, and very attractive.

"I'm looking for something for... a friend."

"What size is your friend?" She used the euphemism with ease.

I opened my mouth to answer, thought about what I was about to say, and then actually laughed out loud. She looked at me curiously, so I hastily explained. "This is going to sound like the worst pick-up line, but she's about your size." I pointed vaguely at her lovely body. "About your build."

She actually blushed. To her credit, she remained businesslike and showed me several very sexy outfits, ranging from evening wear to lingerie. Eve chose outfits in her size, and then held them against her body, modeling for me. With each one, I would imagine Kate wearing it, and my cock quickly stiffened. Eve noticed, but misinterpreted the cause, and mercilessly led me towards the more revealing, and erotic, pieces of lingerie.

By the time we looked at panties, her nipples were noticeably erect. As soon as Eve held up the first pair of lace thong panties, I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing. Kate definitely had no need for those! Although I was enjoying flirting with Eve, I reluctantly decided that underwear was the wrong gift. Too personal, too soon.

When I thanked her and left, without asking for her phone number, I could tell that Eve was disappointed.

"I'll be glad to help if you change your mind," she said, laying a hand on my arm.

Change my mind about what? The lingerie, or the phone number? I looked into her eyes and smiled. Either, I decided. I thanked her again, and visions of Kate drew me out of the store and back into the mall.

For the rest of the week, I ruled out everything I looked at, for one reason or another. It all came down to the simple fact that I knew so little about Kate. Besides, while our encounters were heated, they only consisted of a brief flash of her shaved pussy, a little help at the toilet, an almost-handjob, and several intense--but very promising--kisses. So I mentally scratched her off my gift-giving list. For the moment.

When Tuesday finally arrived, I was mostly finished with my holiday shopping, and I was exhausted. I spent the entire morning working in a Kate-fueled haze. I tried, unsuccessfully, to get her off my mind. I would succeed for a few minutes, if I managed to distract myself on the Net, but I kept coming back to her, kept thinking about her mannerisms, her exquisite body, her attitude.

I don't know what chemicals are released by the brain when you want something, or someone, but I felt like I was mainlining them. I couldn't remember a time when I'd wanted a woman as much as I wanted her. I'd decided that I was half-crazy, blinded by lust. I spent most of the morning with an erection, thinking about her--the feeling of her warm fingers squeezing my cock, the swell of her breast pressed against my arm, the sight of her smooth slit, punctuated by a thin strip of pubic hair. I wasn't half-crazy, I finally decided, I was entirely crazy.

I looked at my watch and decided to take an early lunch. When I returned, a little after 1:20 p.m., I settled in to do a little shopping online. I browsed Amazon.com. I set up a Wish List and filled it with all the DVDs I could possibly want, and some I didn't know I wanted. I went to Crate & Barrel online, and shopped for knick-knacks, abandoning a shopping cart filled with $500 worth of stuff I didn't need. I answered some e-mail. I took a call. I looked at my watch, 2:05 p.m.

I hit eBay, aimlessly wandering through the myriads of treasures at auction. After I got bored there, I read the current news at Salon.com. I read the columnists I liked: David Horowitz, Camille Paglia, Amy Reiter, Allen Barra, and others. I clicked through the layers of the site, reading anything that struck my interest, for what seemed like hours. I looked at my watch, 2:40 p.m. Thirty-five minutes? I did all that in thirty-five minutes?

I tapped on my watch crystal, despite the fact that the second hand was sweeping. I searched for an online time server, and set my watch to the exact time. Then I set my computer's clock to the exact time. Then I found an automatic time applet, downloaded it, installed it, paid for it, got the confirmation code in my e- mail, and registered it. I looked at the computer's clock-- accurate to within mere microseconds, courtesy of the U.S. Naval Observatory--2:51 p.m.

Music! I needed some music. I opened up my MP3s folder, queued up a bunch of my favorites from the Eighties, and then hit play. Time, 2:55 p.m. I bounced through songs in the queue, listening to the first few bars, before moving on to the next song that I just couldn't wait to hear. I finally got tired of the Eighties, 2:59 p.m., so I queued up the Nineties. I loaded WinAmp with a good 75 songs and hit play at 3:03 p.m. Finally, I settled in to browse for new skins for WinAmp. Twenty-three skins and eleven minutes later, I got bored.

Kate.

Beethoven!

The Ninth Symphony, one of my favorites, was 70-some-odd minutes long. They'd designed 74-minute CDs, way back when, so that the whole Symphony would fit on one disc. I scrapped Blink 182 and loaded Beethoven. If I could last through the whole Symphony, I'd make it close enough to 4:30, when the Jazz Club opened. I had high hopes. I made it to the second movement, the one I think of as the "chase scene." Time, 3:27 p.m.

I closed my eyes and thought of her. Sensual lips. Even white teeth. Pear-shaped breasts. Trim stomach. Shapely hips. Legs, legs, legs. Did I mention her legs? I got an erection, just thinking about her calves and ankles. Ankles... one in each hand as I thrust into her... Snap out of it, man!

I looked at myself and decided I needed to change clothes. I needed a shower. I needed to get out of the office. The office was a vortex where time was sucked away and the clocks all ran slow (despite the best efforts of the Naval Observatory). I closed WinAmp, I closed my e-mail, and I left. No one asked where I was going, but all three of the remaining people in the office looked at me funny. I didn't care.

Why couldn't I live further away from the office? The 10-minute drive was mindless, and short. I went inside and shed my clothes on the way through the bedroom. I'd pick them up later, maybe. I turned on the shower and stepped under the stinging spray, letting the heat infuse me. I shampooed, I washed, I scrubbed, and I shaved. I got an erection, thinking about how Kate would look, water-sleek and smiling, standing in the steam in front of me. I reached for my manhood, then decided against it. I wanted to wait. I luxuriated in the water until it ran cold. When I stepped out of the shower stall, every smooth surface in the bathroom was fogged.

I wiped off the mirror, and then the clock next to the door, 3:58 p.m. I went through my bathroom routine, mechanically. With my body on autopilot, my mind wandered, and I thought of her. I got another erection, but resolutely refused to touch it.