Chapter 8

I made New York strip steak rubbed with crushed garlic. I used rubber gloves because I didn't want him smelling it on my hands. I also made candied sweet potatoes which I learned from my grandmother one Thanksgiving when my parents were in Europe.

A growing boy needs his green vegetables my mother used to say, so I added buttered green beans. Actually she used to say growing girl, and it might have been the cook instead of my mother, but you get the idea.

I told him I would clean up and that he should retire to the living room to smoke a cigar.

"I don't smoke," he said.

"It's just a concept. You don't actually need to smoke."

I cleaned up and called him in for dessert, a chocolate cream pie. I didn't make it myself, that would be just a bit too domestic. But I know guys like chocolate, and I read it puts everybody in the mood. He had two slices which made me happy with my choice.

I led the way to the living room. I tried to start my dessert with some kissing. He preferred conversation.

"Did you ever have a really good meal in a fine restaurant?"

"Of course."

I did date the well-heeled and my family was obscenely wealthy. But why is he talking about food when he's got a sure thing?

"Even though people are all the same, we all have basically the same parts, we all have taste buds, we taste things differently, we feel things differently, we smell them differently.

"There are minor and major differences in our reactions to the same things even though we're all human. The same meal will be experienced differently by two people eating at the same time at the same table. It's an exquisite meal but we each appreciate it our own way."

Blah, blah, blah.

"When you eat that meal, they break up the courses. They bring you a sorbet at some point to kind of reset your taste buds so that what you've eaten before won't affect how you experience the next course.

"Sex is like that too."

All right, so it wasn't blah, blah, blah.

"Not everybody reacts the same. Some women have little reaction to stimulation of their nipples, some are driven crazy by it. You can't expect the same things to work for everybody. That's why it can be such an individual thing and you have to take your time to find out what works.

"You also need that little intermezzo between courses, like the sorbet. That's why taking off your clothes last time skipped a step.

"You don't sit down to a fine meal with the attitude let's get this crap on the table and shovel it down already. And you don't whip off your clothes, hop on the bed and say, 'Jump on, I'm in a hurry.'

"I mean sometimes you might, like let's get a quick burger. But that's not the way to savor it.

"That's my general philosophy. I thought it would be helpful for you to understand why I do it the way I do. Maybe it will help you be more comfortable if you know why I'm doing things you may find, unusual."

"I think that may help. So when are you going to jump on? I'm in a hurry."

"Very funny. In just a couple of minutes. My mount will have a degree of difficulty of 3.7 but I will be trying some moves that are as yet unrated by the judges."

"Let's go."

"I need to make a stop in the kitchen."

"No comment this time."

I also didn't get started without him. He returned with a bowl of ice cubes and I giggled.

"Just nerves." I said.

We started with the kissing, always a good place to start. This time he ran his hands through my hair and was massaging my scalp with his fingers. It would have been heavenly even without the kissing.

He started at my hairline and pressed with his fingers as he ran both hands to the back of my head and down to my neck. He moved them back up across the sides of my head, always pressing, rotating the tips of his fingers. He did it a few times and then started down my arms. That was when I realized I had been so lost in the sensations that again I had failed to reciprocate at all.

I untucked a different InTime shirt from his pants and pulled it over his head before he could do something else to make me forget that I was supposed to be an active participant.

He was fairly thin but seemed to have some muscle he had kept well hidden from me. I didn't care.

I ran my fingers over his chest. He ran his fingers over mine. He took his time. He took too much damn time. I started to pull my blouse out from my skirt but he gripped my hands to stop me.

"Do you have another appointment after this?" he asked.

"No."

"Then why the rush? Would you slam down an appetizer so you could get the meal over with as soon as possible?"

I let go of my blouse. He ran his hands up my sides to my shoulders then across to the center. He unbuttoned one button on my blouse and then moved his hands around to my back. I shivered.

"I wouldn't slam down the appetizer, but if I took as long as you're taking," I said, "I would be ready for another meal before I was done the first."

"That's not necessarily a bad thing in this context," he said.

Back around to the front and there went another button.

This was maddening. While I had the concentration I frantically attacked his belt. My urgency made my attempts as inept as a virgin trying to unhook his first bra without benefit of seeing the mechanism.

His mouth attacked mine with greater urgency. I let go of the belt and put my arms around him, pulling him tighter to me.

In spite of that, he dispatched yet another button. His back was smooth. It felt muscular. I think it did. I don't know. Mostly what I was thinking was get my damn clothes off.

I decided to do the head massage myself. When I finished, I realized there were no buttons left and he was sliding my arms out of the blouse. I pushed him off me, sat up and tossed the blouse away from the bed. Before he could stop me I whipped off my bra and sent it flying.