Dining with Friends

She couldn’t find the lines. She knew her friend had to have them. She saw them every day on her own face as she applied the liner and mascara – her limited makeup regime. But the woman she’d known for 30 years – since Sunday School class for beginners – was standing before her and she showed no lines around the face. Maybe she was now a size 8 rather than a 6 but otherwise, time had seemingly agreed to marvel at rather than ravage Jessie.

Beth knew she was getting the same once over as she was delivering so she smiled. Jessie returned the warmth and they giggled.

“I’d be jealous of the eternal youth thing you’ve got going if you weren’t so damn cool on top of it all,” Beth acknowledged.

“Oh . . . you know it’s the genes. Momma still looks like my sister. And Julie’s only 14 but she never has to fret with breakouts. I tell her it’s that good Cherokee blood,” Jessie said as she pulled the chair away from the table and sat down with some degree of satisfaction, placing her numerous packages in the patio chair beside her.

Beth followed her lead and looked around for a waiter as she realized that in the Texas heat she’d worked up a bit of a sweat and felt she might start melting if water wasn’t forthcoming. She waved the young man down and they both ordered water and glasses of white wine.

Jessie breathed a contented sigh as she rubbed her calf with no thought of what the surrounding customers might think of the long legged brunette massaging her legs which were clearly visible in the short skirt she’d chosen for her shopping spree. She wasn’t showing off. She was just taking care of herself.

Beth always liked that about her. “So … another year almost gone and we’re finally getting around to that lunch we promised the last time we saw each other at your Mother’s Christmas party. Shame on both of us!”

“Oh give us both a break, Beth. It takes you two hours to get here. And the kids and the business consume every minute of my time. At least they did. Truth is these lunches may be more frequent with me coming to you now that I’m the proud mother of teenagers. They need me less and less.”

“Now Jessie … don’t say …” Beth started.

Jessie interrupted, “Oh, don’t fret. I’m NOT complaining. The idea that I’m soon through with the seemingly continuous taxi driving doesn’t distress me one bit. And frankly, though I love them dearly, I can’t wait to play again.”

Beth smiled once more. Jessie was never one to mince words or worry about propriety. She had been the first to introduce Beth to her father’s liquor cabinet and her one and only encounter with cigarettes, the first to experience rather than read about sex, the instigator of all skinny dipping, the fastest driver, the first to find the love of her life, the first to have children, and the first to start her own business while keeping those kids relatively trouble free.

Beth never considered herself “less than” Jessie. She’d discarded comparisons long ago. But when Jessie sat so at ease with herself, Beth felt the familiar tinge of longing. She didn’t want her friend’s life, she did, however, wish a few of her own choices hadn’t turned out as they had. Marriage to a nice man who she never loved and found it too easy to divorce as well as postponing her own career until her early 30s made her often feel she was racing to catch up.

Except with Jessie that feeling lasted only a few moments before dissipating in the almost visible positive aura that surrounded her. She’d already endeared herself to the waiter and acquired them a specially prepared pesto the restaurant usually served with dinner bread only. She was slathering a piece of sour dough with it now and taking what seemed to be her first look around the restaurant.

“Don’t you love the fact that we turn the air conditioners as cold as we can get them and then lunch in the sun to warm up? God, I love this town,” Jessie said of the small, sleepy wannabe resort area they’d been born to and that she still called home.

“We do the same thing in Houston, Jessie,” Beth countered, knowing that her friend felt little love for the city Beth had embraced since her college days. “We just charge twice as much for the wine and the bread!”

Jessie chuckled and pointed, discreetly, to the young couple two tables over sharing a meal and nothing more. “I hate when I see that. I know them. Can’t think of their names but they are both teachers and the word is that their marriage may not survive the move here. I just want to walk over and tell them, ‘Talk to each other. Don’t you see you both want to say something!’”

“Sometimes words don’t help,” Beth reminded her, knowing that Jessie’s belief in marriage was as strong as her love of her freedom.

“Beth, your situation was different. Your marriage was more a friendship than a love affair and you knew it almost from the wedding day. I remember you’re telling me that after about six months. I’m proud of you for taking care of yourself and getting out. It was best for both of you. But, those two . . . you can just see the anguish on their faces, unspoken desires . . . . It kills me to watch,” and she placed her bread down on the table and scooted her chair slightly to obstruct her view.

Beth loved that Jessie felt passion and joy so readily. She could move from celebrating the proper blend of nuts, parsley and parmesan in the pesto to marriage advocate in seconds and treat both topics with vigorous enthusiasm.

“So let’s change the subject,” Beth offered. “How’s Dan?”

“Dan is mysterious. Dan is kind. Dan is curious. Dan is Dan,” Jessie offered in the now-familiar-assessment of her marching-to-the-beat-of-his-own-drummer husband. A musician who had somehow found a way to parlay his love of music into a profitable studio and occasional weekend gigs, Dan had a knack for echoing Jessie’s laid back approach to life while simultaneously reflecting all the outward signs of hard-fought success.

“What are we going to do if Dan ever stops asking questions?” Beth offered.

“We’re going to bury him. That will be the day,” Jessie laughed. “By the way, I suggested he join us if he could. Hope you don’t mind?”

“Are you kidding? That guarantees my beauty quota will be met for the month. Between the two of you, I’ll feel like I’m in an art gallery just taking in the sights.”

“Funny . . . that’s what we were saying about you when I reminded him last night that you were coming to town today. He’s always thought your brown eyes and freckles were especially alluring. Says so every time I mention you, ‘I love that girl’s eyes!’ So this time I offered that he could get a good dose by crashing the party.”

Beth blushed at the thought of her dear friends focusing a conversation on her looks. She knew she was attractive enough. She certainly didn’t lack for companionship. But capturing someone’s imagination when she knew them so well and during a late night conversation, that was rather heady.

“Of course,” Jessie continued. “I told him that if he were avoiding the fact that you have breasts to die for and an ass that you obviously spend much time successfully ensuring stays tight, he need not for my sake. Frankly, if he’s missed those points he’s blind!”

The two women both laughed loudly at the brazen assessment. Beth was pleased, and, she began to realize, aroused. She sipped her wine and wondered where this trip to her hometown would truly take her.

Jessie looked over Beth’s shoulder and smiled the smile of a woman still in love with her husband. She raised her hand to call him in their direction. Beth started to stand and Dan grabbed her midway to offer an embrace unlike any she’d had of late. He held tightly and rubbed her back as he exclaimed how good she looked and how great it was to see her.

Then he bent to kiss his wife with the kind of kiss most believe is wasted on the young – long, passionate, and wet.

“Have you two save the best dishing for me? Or am I too late to discover how you would simultaneously save the world and bring peace to humankind if only you were allowed to intervene in each and every life story represented at the tables of this fine establishment?” Dan greedily took of Jessie’s bread, pesto and wine while unfurling his napkin.

“Oh you give us too much credit, dear. We’ve only just begun to assess the potential therapy candidates,” Jessie chuckled as she grabbed her glass back and waved for the waiter to return for the orders.

Salads all around and more wine and the lunch continued with equal amounts of laughter, concern for Beth’s ailing mother and Julie’s less than stellar academic performance, and compliments ranging from how well they had all maintained healthy physiques while harboring healthy appetites to toasts to their good sense in remaining friends throughout the years.

When they had studied but passed on the dessert menu, Dan asked what was next on the agenda.

“I had thought a half day was all I could muster,” Beth offered begrudgingly. “But now that I’m here and two glasses into the afternoon,” she pointed to the empty wine bottle, “I’m wondering if I couldn’t impose on you two for an afternoon nap before heading back into the city.”

“Nap!? No way. Stay the night, please???” Jessie exclaimed with Dan chiming in his approval with enthusiasm.

“We could make a night of it,” he offered. “I’ll go down to the fresh market and pick up some delectables for dinner. The kids are both at sleepovers so we can party like it’s 1999 . . . or at least enjoy the hell out of an adults only evening. Please say you’ll stay,” Dan outlined the hours with such pleasure that Beth went from tempted to committed within minutes.

Jessie beamed when Beth agreed to the invitation. Beth noted and then dismissed what she thought might be a shared smirk between the couple. The afternoon was cooling slightly and the breeze on her wine-warmed face caught her attention more than a potential conspiracy.

“So . . . if there’s a slumber party in my future I have the perfect reason to make a stop at that cute bath shop I saw on my way here. Jessie, join me?” Beth offered.

“Absolutely! I’m thinking our bubble supply may be in need of replenishing. Let’s have it. Dan, we’ll see you back at the ranch around 6?”

“6 it is. I’ll have shrimp and scallops ready for your creative touches and if I see anything else that interests me, I’ll splurge for that as well.”

He offered the departing women cheek kisses and dismissed them to assume the bill paying responsibilities that Beth knew would be futile to argue over. She thanked him and gave his arm an extra squeeze.

The shopping was made more pleasant by the cooperating weather and the growing sense of camaraderie between the two women. They shared knowing glances at the overpriced lavender oat bars and exfoliating creams and eagerly racked up on the sugar scrubs and massage oils they found on the sales table. They visited a few more shops but soon agreed that their conversations were holding more of their attention than the various coffee blends and candle scents the stores offered so they made their way back to their respective cars.

Beth reminded herself of the directions to Jessie and Dan’s “bungalow on the beach” as they referred to their five bedroom wonder that they’d designed with the help of a gifted architect who had the good sense to listen to his creative clients. Their space was truly their space, each room exuding their warmth while simultaneously reminding guests that form and function can make for a happy home.

When they arrived, Dan was busily and happily absorbed in the kitchen prep with what Beth suspected was one of his own compositions setting the tone. The sound system was integrated into every room of the abode and it was a perfect accompaniment to the casual yet inviting furnishings that made the space a perfect place for entertaining.

“You two must throw some kicking parties,” Beth offered as she reacquainted herself with the open layout and searched for any new photos of the kids that might be mounted on the mantle or bookcase shelves.

The couple laughed immediately. “In our dreams,” Jessie responded. “We think we’re going to invite this couple or that one over and then schedules clash and we’re trying to pencil each other in for months away and it’s just too much trouble.”

“We’re the most extroverted hermits in town,” Dan said as he put the final touches on the spinach-laden spanakopita. “I was feeling a tad Mediterranean and so we’re in for a feta kind of evening. Any complaints?” and not waiting for a response he began to make cooking assignments. Beth was to take on the homemade hummus utilizing the processor and various ingredients he’d already laid out for her. Jessie got antipasto duty and he directed her to the serving platter and olives and cheeses he’d secured at the market.

Both women looked at their kitchen general and then each other before quietly agreeing to mutiny.

Arms folded, Jessie spoke, “We don’t work without fair wages. Where’s the wine?”

Dan laughed and pointed to the bottle he’d been chilling out of eyesight. “I just wondered how long you were going to let me go on before rebellion set in,” he said as he secured glasses.

“Please allow me to make the toast,” Beth begged. “To friends who take you in, make you smile, and remind you that life is to be embraced. Salud!”

They agreed with clinks of the glasses and affirmed the choice of crispy white. Then each set to the task ahead.

Dan was working on the seafood marinade that would season the grilled goodies when he proposed the timing for the fare. “I thought we’d munch a while on the antipasto and hummus. Then later, much later, we’ll grill and see if my attempts with puff pastry have been successful. What say ye, my fair maidens? Does this meet with your approval?”

The women lifted their glasses, concluded their tasks and took to the patio where a sunset awaited.

“Evenings like this are why I think Buddha had it right. Take in the moments,” Beth breathed in and weeks of tension seemed to leave her with the exhale.

“Buddha and the Celtics,” Dan offered. “I remember reading once that they too considered each ordinary act an opportunity to focus on the divine. I kinda like that idea. For instance, this meal, this sunset, this gathering of friends is sacred. No matter how you fill in the blank of what it is to be spiritual.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, seemingly in agreement that the setting sun was the priority.

As a chilly breeze wafted in from the sea, Jessie went inside momentarily to grab a couple of wraps and Dan retrieved the first courses to set before the women. They all ate and replenished their glasses with ease, peppering their conversation with a combination of life observations and what Beth began to observe was a growing tendency toward innuendo.

“Something about finger food makes me happy,” Dan grinned as he popped a balsamic vinegar covered cherry tomato followed by two olives stuffed with provolone.

“Your fingers make me happy,” Jessie offered as she reached to spread hummus on the pita and kissed him almost hungrily on the back of the neck.

“You two make a happy single woman almost wish she weren’t,” Beth said, creating her own mini sandwich of pita, prosciutto and what she assumed was a Havarti cheese.

“Weren’t almost happy? Or almost single?” Dan laughed at his weak attempt at humor with the telling kind of giggle that indicated he knew just how weak it was.

“Oh, Beth, I love that you’re single. I don’t mean to say that I want you to be alone but I don’t get the sense that you’re lonely. And with that, I live vicariously through you. When you call, I can’t wait to hear what’s up, who you’re seeing, what play you’ve seen, what restaurant you’ve panned or placed on your ‘must-return’ list, and on and on and on,” Jessie’s enthusiasm was growing as was the light in her eyes, highlighted beautifully by the glow of the candles Dan had lit earlier.
“Well, let’s just have a lovefest!” Beth’s laughter was matched by her two hosts and yet, she realized, not exactly.

“Funny you should mention that . . . “ Dan let the comment hang.

“I knew it!” Beth grinned with satisfaction.

“Knew what?” Jessie feigned innocence but looked happy that the undercurrent of conspiracy was about to be exposed.

“You guys are seducing me!”

“We’ve been found out!” Dan replied with mock guilt. “Should we beg forgiveness? Or turn the conversation in some new rather intimate directions?”

“Because, you know, Beth, we have no intention of damaging this friendship. Why we . . . .” Jessie was about to continue when Beth touched both their hands.

“Are you kidding me? I’m flattered. I’m flabbergasted. I’m thrilled. And I’m absolutely intrigued with the idea. You two must know that I find you both incredibly attractive. I’ve never made a secret of it. I’m assuming now that something I may have said might have led you to believe I’d be open to a night just like this. If so, you read that perfectly.”

“Thank goodness,” Jessie breathed a sigh of relief, returning Beth’s gesture with a touch of her own. She placed her hand on Beth’s cheek and brought it close to hers. Touching cheek to cheek, she held it there for only seconds and then turned to kiss her lifelong friend.

The kiss was soft at first. The two women took turns tracing each others’ lips with their tongues. Then they plunged into a long, satisfying kiss that had them both breathing a bit slower at its close.

Dan exhaled. “That was absolutely fucking beautiful.”

“She’s beautiful,” the women said together and smiled at how they once again were thinking along the same lines.

“So are you two new to this? You know I’m not. You’ve heard too many of my stories for me to pretend otherwise,” Beth admitted without hesitation.

“Actually, yes,” Jessie explained. “We’ve talked about it on and off for a few years but never have acted on it. Occasionally, when we take time away from the kids for a short vacation we’ve indulged in some of the night life and more than once we’ve watched each other receive lap dances. But for the most part, it’s been all talk. We decided it was time to open up the possibilities and there was no way I wanted to be with a stranger. I knew immediately when we agreed we’d do it, that you were the one. I only hoped that you’d agree.”

Beth blushed with the pleasure of being the object of someone’s attention. She felt a warmth and longing for her friends like none she’d known before. Still, she wanted to insure that they knew they were safe.

“Excited and aroused as I am by the idea, guys, I have to ask. Are you sure? This certainly changes things but I can also tell you that it doesn’t have to be awkward. Will I absolutely see you in a different light in the morning? Yes. Have I done this and remained friends, very close friends, with my companions before? Another yes. But you have to feel secure with me, or this is a very bad idea. So? Do you?”

Jessie looked at Dan. Dan returned her gaze and then replied. “I love Jessie with every fiber of my being and nothing is going to change that. But pleasure, and especially pleasure among friends, is a gift. I’m in.”

“That said,” Jessie noted as she stood and offered Beth her hand. “I’m thinking we could make use of those of bath products, right Beth?”

Beth took her friend’s hand and followed to the bath that almost measured the dimensions of her entire condo in the city. She noticed that Dan had lagged behind and was about to wonder where he had gone when he appeared with a new bottle of wine and the report that dinner would be slightly delayed.

They all smiled as Jessie lit candles around the tub that was deep and wide. Beth, suddenly unsure of herself with no function to perform, began to pour. Dan adjusted the sound so that the light jazz could be heard but not dominate the room. Though the music could be heard, the silence was a bit unnerving for all of them. Jessie broke it.

Reaching out her hand to Beth, “Hello, my name is Jessie and I’m feeling rather awkward at the moment.”

Beth laughed and while taking Jessie’s hand and drawing her close offered, “Hello Awarkard, I’m Suddenly Shy. Nice to meet you.” Then she drew her in for a kiss. The women were hesitant and sure at the same time. Their kiss was delicate and yet a hint of the hunger produced from a day of stimulating conversation, shared laughter, and good food and wine was evident as well. Jessie reached behind Beth’s neck and the kiss grew in intensity. They found a rhythm in the music and paused only as the guitar solo faded.

“Amazing,” Dan said at the kiss’ conclusion. “Beautiful and amazing.”

“We should hope arousing as well,” Jessie noted as she took her husband’s hand and placed his palm near her lips for a soft kiss there as well. Then she placed both his and her hands in the small of Beth’s back. “We’re yours to enjoy . . . if you’ll have us,” she added with a giggle.
Beth returned the gesture by observing that they all appeared to be in way too many clothes to enjoy the benefits of the steaming water. And she unbuttoned the top button of first Jessie’s and then Dan’s shirts. They took over as did she with her own attire and soon, they were neck deep in the suddenly fragrant small pool-like bath. They sat on the step that lined the sides with Dan nearest the European faucet and Jessie and Beth on either side facing each other.

He looked from brunette to blonde, from wife to friend, from athlete to curves and said a silent prayer of gratitude. The women noticed the change in his expression and Beth wondered aloud what he was thinking.

“I’m overwhelmed with a sense of how precious tonight can be,” he said. And Beth remembered again why she was always so glad to take them up on their invitations. She never felt outside their emotional intimacy. They both shared willingly and, she’d always assumed, honestly. She liked that Dan wasn’t trying to play coy. He was simply taking in the beauty before him. As was she.

Jessie kissed him. And once again, invited Beth to join her. Beth soon found the physical intimacy as easy as the emotional one she sometimes craved. They kissed and then they began to explore each others’ bodies with fingertips softly tracing the skin. Beth liked the sinewy limbs of her friends’ physiques. Both runners, they were taut and muscular. Jessie, in turn, focused on Beth’s breasts which easily filled Beth’s hands and large hard nipples that begged to be sucked. So she did. Dan took the left as Jessie enjoyed the right. Beth leaned back her head and felt the initial surge of pleasure before grabbing both their asses with her hands.

“My oh my oh my,” she breathlessly provided. “You two certainly take care of . . . yourselves.”

“And tonight, we want to take care of you,” they chimed in.

Jessie drank from the pool forming between Beth’s breasts as Dan lifted their friend to his knees allowing Jessie perfect access to kiss her way down to Beth’s hairline. Beth was half sitting, half lying with her head now propped on the side of the bath, a plush towel as her pillow. Dan continued to move from breast to breast as Jessie began to tickle Beth’s clit with her tongue. Dan soon moved his hands to cup each cheek of Beth’s ass. Then he moved his massaging forward so that he could finger her as Jessie continued her tongue play.

Beth responded with only moans and the occasional shift of her body to intensify the pleasure. She came with what felt like bolts of power surging through her.

They held her, softly caressing and kissing until she’d calmed and then she rose to kiss them both full on the lips before taking Dan’s penis in one hand and sucking on Jessie’s neckline as she fondled her friend’s smaller but still perky breasts. She pinched the nipple and Jessie’s almost squeak of pain/pleasure prompted her to squeeze and rub even harder. She smiled at the synchroncity of her movements. With her left hand she was squeezing Dan and with her right she had Jessie. Jessie was focused both on the sensations to her own body and now playing with Dan’s chest as well. Beth then took Jessie’s hand and together they alternated between his dick and his balls, each pumping, squeezing and delighting him. Meanwhile, Beth worked on the breast closest to her and Jessie received Dan’s fingered exploration.

Jessie came with quiet bursts of laughter which had all of them joining her. Then Beth noted that for her continued enjoyment, they might want to adjourn to the bedroom . . . or any other room and/or receptacle that might allow for maximum horizontal play.

They all agreed and rose from the water taking sips from their almost forgotten wine before toweling each other off with both the plush cotton and shared kisses.

The house was wired so that the music followed them to the bedroom and the soft glow of the candlelight was echoed there by the practically hidden fixtures that allowed for visibility without intrusiveness. The bed was of the king variety and the bedding was plump, soft and inviting. Earth tones of green and khaki with accents of chocolate made Beth think of the mints they had tasted earlier in the day at the coffee shop. How far they’d traveled since the afternoon, she thought without voicing.

Dan pulled back the covers and Jessie took Beth’s hand as they crawled to the center of the bed. Again the women kissed and explored each other’s now moist but for the most part dry bodies. Dan, on his knees and therefore slightly above them, placed one hand on each woman’s back and kneaded his way across their shoulders. Occasionally, he bent to kiss the tops of their heads. They then, looking first at one another with knowing smiles, turned toward his penis and Jessie concentrated on his balls while Beth’s mouth came down on the tip and then lower, much lower, to take all his penis in. The two women moved as though they were choreographed. Licking, sucking, taking pauses to kiss each other as then would then trade places and concentrate on yet another part of Dan’s anatomy. Though he tried to reciprocate, they soon had him in such a state that his previous flow of adjectival delight – amazing, beautiful, sensational, sensuous – had now been replaced by gutteral utterings.

When it was evident to Jessie that he was about to explode, she placed her hand in the small of his back and directed him toward Beth. Beth, though knowing the answer, looked at Jessie momentarily for an absolute sense of her approval, and Jessie smiled the longing smile of woman content and curious and ready to be sated with the visual she’d often wondered about. Facing one another, Beth and Dan began to rock with her straddling his lap. Jessie situated herself closely beside them and rocked with them as she occasionally bent to lick Beth’s lower back and tickle her ass with her tongue.

Dan’s orgasm was not a quiet one. He practically sang his praises. Beth, slightly surprised by the burst of energy quickly adjusted and waited the bursts of tightening muscles that would ensure her second orgasm of the evening as well. She grasped him tightly as he began to slow in his response and whispered, “Stay.”
He did and soon the waves of pleasure hit her with a magnitude she knew was intensified by Jessie’s continued kissing and kneading of her back and backside.

Jessie’s response to the scene was as Beth hoped. She laughed with contentment.

Dan, slower to recuperate than the women, mumbled, “Anyone actually hungry?”

The women giggled and pinched both his nipples as they exclaimed, “Absolutely! And you’re the chef!”

The marinade was citrus based, the grilling of the shrimp and scallops perfection and the spinach stuffed pastry was delicious if not exactly steaming with warmth. They fed each other, swapped stories of memories and mishaps in the bedroom and by the time the plates were clean, their sexual appetites were once again restored and they chuckled as each made their way to the bedroom for the second act.

The next morning, Beth awoke to the smell of rich coffee and she thought cinnamon. She heard Dan in the shower and noted that Jessie had provided a robe at the foot of the bed. She draped it loosely on her and padded her way to the kitchen. Jessie was humming and beamed when her friend entered the room.

“Good morning, dear friend. How did you sleep?” she spoke with just a tinge of amusement dripping from her words.

“Exquisite, and you?”

“I dare say that was the best lunch, dinner and now breakfast date I have ever had,” Jessie replied. “We simply must do it again some time.”

“Agreed,” Beth offered as she began to set the table. “Definitely agreed.”

Something on the Dock of the Bay

The singer growled more than sang, and I was enjoying every note. A large man, proud of his Louisiana roots, he stood in the Texas heat in shorts and an oversized golf shirt that throughout the evening would increasingly reflect his propensity to sweat. Unfazed by his transforming appearance, he let his music take center stage.

He wasn’t a rock star. He was rhythm and blues. And I was feeling every note.

David had suggested we ride to the nearby resort town to check out the music scene that I didn’t even know existed. I was skeptical because my experience with the place left me with an overwhelming feeling of plastic. The restaurants are cookie-cutter-let’s-prove-how-fun-we-are-with-canned-music-and-cheesey-graphic-chains and the boardwalk is a series of overpriced carnival rides nestled on the edge of the bay. I found it hard to believe anything good could come out of Kemah.

I hereby confess. I was wrong.

The cheese factor at T-Bone’s was present but low key. Sure, I spotted a couple of tongue in cheek signs that were supposed to suggest laid back cool, but for the most part, the picnic tables were the best testament to the fact that this casual joint wasn’t trying too hard. A roll of paper towels on the table and condiments nodding to the gulf diner’s taste for Tabasco were it.

We chose our table based on the setting sun. We weren’t in need of its beauty for romance – as a new couple who were growing in our awareness of our commonalities both inside and out of the bedroom we were good in that department – we simply wanted to avoid the heat!

“Our spot” became a place to stage left. The shade was settling in and we nested on one side of the table. He offered me first choice on selecting the seating arrangements and I immediately opted for two chairs on the same side of the table and facing the music. He smiled. He wasn’t sure yet as to whether I’d be a public-display-of-affection kind of woman but the attention I was giving to the closeness of the chairs offered a strong hint.

The classics were our singer’s forte. “Sitting on the dock of the bay” had me grinning broadly and, though I shushed David mid-story, I made up for the story-interuptus by softly running my fingertips along his arm. He feigned hurt until realizing my intent and then he relaxed, allowing the longing in both the song and my eyes to begin to transport him.

We ordered small plates. They were out of alligator which saddened me because it seemed appropriate for the setting. But the jalepenos, cheese, shrimp and mushrooms sated us. At least as far as the food went.

I realized that to accomplish my ever-evolving plan, we’d need to relocate to the bench on the opposite side of the table. Offering that the shade had shifted slightly, I pulled him up for the move and he complied. I only pushed him slightly – really, just slightly – to straddle the bench with his back to the wall and ready himself for my joining him. I leaned back into his chest and wrapped his arms around me in such a fashion that his hand rested just beneath my breast.

I didn’t have to see his face to know that he was now seeing the coming attractions.

I began to rub my finger over his and across my nipple in time to “Ain’t No Sunshine When She’s Gone” and he picked up the beat as well. Anyone who cared to watch the couple on the side would only see two adults keeping time. They would have to get very up close and personal to know that my nipples were hard and my other hand had found its way behind my back.

Releasing him from his shorts was not too much of an endeavor as I had practically lap danced him towards an erection on the “I know, I know, I know, I know” of one of my favorite tunes. He was ready to come out and play. I grabbed the base of his cock and squeezed in time to the music. He continued to play out the beat on my breast. Soon I’d made my way to the tip of his cock and just imagining its familiar pink cast and rounded fullness made me practically come with only the slightest touch to the center where his juices were beginning to ooze.

He moaned the moan of man pleased with his world and calmed the tapping, resting his hand just below my left breast as he inched his other beneath my cheek. His knee obstructed the next table’s view. We were the couple clearly familiar with the sound as we sang along quietly and on occasion stopped to whisper in each other’s ear. What may have been interpreted as a critique of the music was actually promises to one another of what would come later as well as what was hoped for in the here and now.

“I want your cock inside me. I want you to come inside me. I don’t care where – mouth, pussy, you name it.”

“You’re so wet. I know it. I can almost feel your wetness dripping down toward your ass. I want to feel you tight around me.”

We continued our game until the first set was complete. We were calm. We were composed and our breathing seemed labored only to the two of us. The storm we were creating with limited detectable movement was perfect.

We paid the check and adjusted ourselves to take a walk near the water. I found it difficult to keep my hands off him as we slowly made our way to the pier. But we found a darkened corner and stood to face the sea. He took the lead this time, unfastening my pants and slipping his hand down my panties to discover the wetness he’d already predicted. He chuckled in my ear and let his finger dance across my clit to his own rendition of what could happen on the dock of the bay as the tide rolled away.

He was right. I came almost immediately as his low voice melted into my consciousness. He held tightly as the waves of pleasure matched the lapping sounds of the water hitting the pier. I was totally enveloped in his arms and the sole passer-by knew nothing of the orgasmic nature of our coupling.

After I had recovered, he tidied me up and kissed the back of my neck softly. Again. Then again. And again. He offered that the Jeep in which we’d traveled outside the city would make a nice bed with only a few adjustments. I concurred and we walked to the parking lot like the new, anticipating lovers that we are.

We drove away with the cool breeze providing the necessary rationale for snuggling closer and I soon found a way to position my hand for pleasuring him while he drove and I watched the sweet agony grow on his face. He had that “please-no-please-please-yes-no” look going that I love and I smiled at his dilemma.

Soon he had found a turnoff the somewhat busy highway and yet another turn had us near a stretch of beach with no street lights, no lights of any kind except the distant glow coming from the resort area. We shifted his golf gear and created makeshift pillows from towels and were soon blessed with a headboard on irons and woods and skylight view of the stars.

He kissed the top of my head. “I thought you might be a bit shy for that kind of thing.”

“What kind of thing?” I did a horrible job of overacting as the sweet, young innocent we both knew I wasn’t.

“That little game of show and tell back at the restaurant,” he laughed as he stroked my hair and began to rub my neckline. I was once again resting my head against his chest and getting lost in the sense of power his broad shoulders implied, not too mention the arms that were all-too-familiar with weights and had the bulges to prove it.

“Uh … as I recall, the show was private and I don’t think the table next to us could tell a thing. Unless of course, you mentioned to them that I squeeze my eyes shut and release a slight mmmmm sound every time you make me come. Then they might have a thing or two to tell tomorrow,” she loved tickling him both physically and as they chatted. She was sure he was pleased because his hardness had returned and she was now back to familiar ground, holding him in both her hands that she’d wrapped behind her. She had a basket weave effect going on him and his breathing was sounding deeper and harder in her ears.

“Mmmm . . . yes . . . mmmmm, that is the sound isn’t it? You . . . did. . . do a . . . good . . . job of restraining . . . your . . . self,” he was finding it hard to focus.

“Speaking of restraining – let’s not,” and with that she turned and placed her lips on his now fully erect cock and dove down in one full swoop, deep throating him to his surprise.

He gasped and found no words but he tugged at her hair in a way that he knew she liked. So she continued. She kissed and licked and pushed along the shaft with her tongue. She sucked him like a lollipop and then tickled the tip with her tongue. Back and forth. Up and down. She found her rhythm by replaying the singer’s songs in her head.

Soon she knew that he was ready to explode and she paused just long enough to encourage him. He came in bursts. She marveled as she watched him lose the control he cherished so dearly in everyday life. He was no longer with her in the jeep but in a place of pure pleasure.

She was glad to watch.

When he calmed, she began tracing her finger around his chest.

"Why didn't you get on top of me?" he asked with genuine concern.

"Sometimes I just like to watch. You're such a giver that its good to reverse the roles on occasion. You complaining?"

"No. No complaints. But remember, giving you pleasure, gives me pleasure."

"Oh, I remember. In fact, you can return the favor at any time you feel . . . up to it."

He grinned the grin of a little boy who just learned he had several more hours before supper to play.

"Did you notice the clouds?" he pointed up and pulled her closer then began to cup her breasts.

"Beautiful pillows of white set against the darkness, don't you think?" she responded and readied herself for the storm already stirring within her.

"Beautiful indeed," squeezing both breast and nipple.

"I think I have a whole new appreciation for resort life on the bay," she laughed as he turned her face toward his and began his now familiar slide of kisses down, down, down.

Taking Care

She’d been thinking about it ever since she’d toured her room prior to heading to the first workshop.

Who was she kidding? She wasn’t simply thinking about it; she was fantasizing.

A frequent traveler, she had had one of “those” days – the traffic was slowed due to rain AND a fender bender, the flight was delayed to within minutes of her missing her connection, the wheel on her suitcase was stuck, and when she arrived at her hotel they had given her room to someone else.

She didn’t mean to do it, but tears welled up in her eyes and she stood before the clerk with the look of someone too exhausted to even fight.

Pity ushered forth. The clerk found a room – a much better one at the same price and she dropped her stuff there after only a quick glance around. Still, she had time to see it.

The workshops were a mixed offering of topic and talent. She really wanted to check out the crossing cultures track but she had heard most of the presenters before and none of them “wow-ed” her. She opted for two on psychographics. One proved insightful and stimulating. The other was a wash.

But she left smiling. Because she knew what awaited her. She’d planned it throughout the almost wasted hour of poorly produced powerpoint slides which dictated the entire flow of the presentation. She hated the inflexibility of that product but at the moment, she welcomed it because the use of it had prompted her planning.

She had the menu (from room service of course) carefully selected. The travel snafus had resulted in her missing all meals and she was famished. She’d had the shrimp bisque with ravioli on her last visit to this hotel and she was jonesing for it once again. Sour dough bread would be so tasty with the sweetness of the soup’s sherry base. Next a Caesar salad and she’d ask them to go heavy on the anchovies and light on the croutons. The entre would be based on the fish of the day but the salmon with lemon caper sauce and mushrooms was one option. She wanted risotto but not the calories. Still . . . she hadn’t eaten all day . . .

She’d definitely forego dessert for the wine she’s planned. Something white and crisp from the Malborough region. She wet her lips in anticipation.

The elevator ride took an eternity. She was sure of it. And they didn’t actually stop on every floor on their way to the 17th but in her later retelling of the evening, she would be convinced they had.

“They” were the other workshop attendees, plastic nametags hanging around their necks as yet one more reminder they didn’t have a good handle on where anything was located – ice, vending, or the nearest bathroom (if the look on the guy’s face who exited on the 14th floor was any indicator). She smiled. The one good thing about attending as a consultant in the same field was that she’d been acquainted with this particular hotel’s layout for a couple of years. Conferences were courted and welcomed here.

When the doors finally opened to the elevator lobby on the Floor 17, she wondered if the gasp she knew she’d uttered in her head was actually audible. The view was not to be missed, as the floor to ceiling windows wouldn’t allow it. And the cityscape was in its twilight halo.

She made her way to her room and one slip of the card in and out guaranteed the rest of the evening was now hers and only hers for the enjoyment.

She breathed in. Fresh flowers in the living room area offered a hint of spice in the air. She took it all in. Her space.

A luscious overstuffed couch in a chocolate brown with cream colored pillows each hosting a center brown button – the set reminder her of a box of Godivas. A dining table positioned by the once again floor to ceiling windows that focused on that same glorious view of twinkling lights and shadows hiding all the harsh reality of the world taking place outside her now sanctuary. A mini bar – she’d check that out in a few. And the short hallway to the object of her affection.

The bath. Some deity had to have designed it. The dark marble vanity, the lighting that said, “Truly, you are beautiful,” the foot wide ledge that surrounded that altar to pleasure – a deep tub with enough jets to push and pull away every tension of the day. Add to the picture plush towels in abundance and a basket of bath goodies beaconing like bread to the starving and she was certain that she had found heaven on earth.

Removing her heels and her “Sunday go to meeting” clothes as she often referred to the conservative suit she favored for travel, she looked in the closet and there it was – a terry cloth robe, thick, white and inviting. She placed it on the bed for the arrival of room service but until then she enjoyed the feel of the soft baby blue wife beater that was form fitting without being tightly uncomfortable and a pair of fresh cotton panties that rested on her hips. She walked toward the bar and grabbed the phone as she did so. Ordering her meal (she went with taliapia after hearing about the mango/jicama slaw that topped it and splurged on the risotto as well), she poured herself a generous vodka tonic and said a silent thank you that the room upgrade also include fresh limes in the mini fridge.

She toasted her reflection in the window as she gazed out at the checkerboard of lighted windows. She offered up a sigh of gratitude that for the moment she was here and not in one of those. She found the points of architectural identification this city was known for. Then she noted the silence for the first time.

“Music,” she thought. “How silly of me to forget.”

She found, to her utmost delight, that the television included music channels. She found some R&B and let Marvin Gaye set the stage for the rest of her evening – “Sexual Healing” indeed!

The knock at her door and announcement that room service had arrived startled her out of her relishing all things decadent and she almost stumbled rushing to don the robe and answer the door. She smiled at her initial discomfort. She always seemed ready to please – even a hotel waiter who was paid to wait patiently. She slowed down, adjusted the robe and opened the door.

The uniform of this particular hotel included a not too bright coral colored long sleeve shirt with flat front black pants. They were going for stylish with a hint of sexy rather than generic black and white. This particular waiter had achieved it. The color accentuated his dark curly hair that rested on his collar. The smiling green eyes truly sparkled against the caramel of his skin. He was not tall but not short. He had a couple of inches on her. And he had a wide chest that the cut of the shirt hugged quite nicely.

He smiled even wider when he saw her. He’d seen her before. Her honey blonde hair that fell to her shoulders wasn’t easy to forget. The curls seemed endless yet loose and easy. She wore little makeup because she didn’t have to. Her brown eyes dominated her face and warmed whoever was graced with her gaze. He spotted a few freckles on her nose before taking in – as quickly as possible – what he knew the robe was covering: beautifully cupped breasts in the B to C range he’d guess, curves to his liking, no suggestion of a six pack but instead an ever so slight protrusion that was even more to his liking, and muscular thighs. Obviously, he hadn’t just seen her before. He’d studied her.

But he wasn’t doing so now. Now, he was the consummate professional as long as it could be allowed that a professional could let his gaze linger in the accomplishment of his duties. He set up the dinner on the dining table with more fanfare than he might ordinarily ascribe to the task. Nothing too flashy (he hated the pompousness of snapping the cloth napkin) but he wanted it to be right for her.

She asked his name just as he was about to reveal the contents under each silver cover. Flustered, he said nothing more than Francesco and continued his presentation. She listened politely and affirmed each selection. He then asked if she would like him to open the wine. She said yes to that as well. He liked the selection. He was studying culinary arts at the local university and prided himself on his growing knowledge of wine and food pairings. He was pleased that soon she would be pleased as well.

He inquired as to whether she needed anything else from him – half hoping she would blatantly describe her wants, needs and desires on the spot. But she said she thought it was a beautiful sight and then signed her name on the bill.

Melissa – her first name was Melissa.

She had generously tipped him and he hoped she knew the beam in his eye was a thank you.

Then he did something he had never done before. If he was right, she wouldn’t report him. If he was wrong, he’d be looking for another position and soon. He wrote his extension on the back of the bill and gave it to her with the caveat that she should let him know if there were anything else she needed. Anything. He didn’t leer. He didn’t smile any differently as he said the words. He bid her a goodnight and she him and he left.

As he exited, she noted that his ass was perfect. She hadn’t responded to his offer of further assistance because she had no intention of needing another thing. But she was delighted he’d taken a risk. He was certainly delectable. Still, she had plans.

She opened each dish and took in the aromas. Though still “hotel fare” the dishes were prepared to order and presented with the extra touches that encouraged her to relax in the knowledge that someone somewhere knew what they were doing. The bisque had a sprinkling of paprika, the additional anchovies she’d requested were extensive and visible as the croutons were not, the risotto was just the right temperature (she’d worried the trip from the kitchen would create a paste) and the fish was delicate.

The wine? Ahhh . . . the wine . . . she’d sipped as she was offered to confirm its acceptability and suppressed the giggle of pleasure that almost erupted. She simply loved it when a plan came together.

Robert Cray was now singing of a smoking gun and love that was sure to go wrong at some point. Though his guitar did more of the storytelling than his voice.

She considered taking her fare to the couch but decided she wanted to focus on the food and nothing more so she opted for the view of both the dishes and the lights of the city.

She learned a few years ago the benefits of savoring the flavors and resisting the childhood practice of cleaning her plate. She biked and had a gym routine and road trips were hazardous to her weight maintenance if she succumbed to the rationale that she’d had a bad day or deserved a nice this or that. So she treated herself by allowing herself all she wanted of her treat and not a bite more.

Still, she made a dent. Sated, she rose to accomplish the next phase of her fantasy.

The water rushed from the faucet with a tiny burst of steam. She mixed and mingled until the perfect temperature ran between her fingers. She studied the assortment of products and, while she knew it was a Jacuzzi no-no, added some suds. She went back to the dining table to retrieve the ice bucket and wine bottle and made her way to the bed where she suspected and was rewarded with the presence of two chocolates. She was happy that one was milk. While she knew the wine affectionados and foodies touted red with dark, she liked what she liked and a mild chocolate with caramel along with the crispness of a white wine did it for her. She took her bounty tubside.

She dimmed the lights – no candles were in sight and while she knew Francesco would deliver as requested – she wanted no further disturbance. Besides the glow only fell around the mirror and for the most part, she was in blissful darkness. However, the glow captured her attention and her imagination as she disrobed. She liked her body. She had long ago given up the pursuit of a made-in-Hollywood physique. They all struck her as too skinny and she often wondered if their lovers were bruised by the extending bones.

No, she enjoyed her curves just fine thank you. She thought her breasts were especially pleasing as they were round rather than spherical as she’d seen on some women her age. She sometimes wished her tummy were a little less soft but she had crunched her way into acceptance that a woman who enjoyed food and wine as much as she did would have to contend with some evidence. Her genetic makeup demanded that it was the soft pillow on which several of her lovers had rested in good graces.

She stepped into the luscious mounds of whiteness that awaited her and grimaced slightly at the heat. But she plunged in and after gritting her teeth for only seconds, the release began. She sat and allowed the water to still around her. She imagined the heat opening each pore and she relished the idea that her body was somehow distinct at this moment and had only now begun to conceive of what lie ahead.

She slowly leaned back and rigid once again let the waters still before relaxing completely. Her toes were several inches away from the faucet and she was thankful once again that her small stature allowed her to be enveloped by the water, the suds, the tub.

She took a long taste of the wine. Feeling its coolness on her tongue, she traveled with it down her throat. She touched her belly slightly as she imagined its arrival at its destination and then she rested, allowing the alcohol and the heat to ease her body and spirit.

She sighed.

Anita Baker’s fluid sounds brought her out of her daze and she began to move with the music.

Still not quite free of the tension of the day, she raised her foot in the air and with each palm worked her way down the sides of calves and thighs, concentrating on her hips and the especially tight muscles she produced with too little stretching and too much strain on the treadmill.

She pushed the button and the suds began to multiply. She positioned first one foot and then the other in front of a jet. The beating on her soles was soothing. She poured her third glass of wine and positioned and repositioned herself so that no muscle group went unfulfilled.

Then she shut the jets down.

She was still.

She sat the glass on the ledge. Placing a hand on each thigh, she began to work her way up her body. She felt the water on her leg as though it were paint on a canvass. She slid her way to her stomach and embraced the fullness before taking in her breasts. Cupping one in each hand, she began to massage. She took her right hand index finger and traveled between her breasts and to her neck. She massaged the muscles gently and then delicately touched her lips, sucking in the water, smelling the lavender scent of the suds. She traced her lips, her cheekbones. All the while, her left hand began to knead the breast even more, eventually pulling her nipple in short bursts. She became hard quickly as she languished in the warmth of the waters and the anticipation of the next few moments.

Her right hand made its way to between her legs. She was shaved except for what one friend had once called “the landing strip” and she enjoyed the smoothness of her skin. Her finger easily found her now throbbing clit and began to move up and down to the music.

Her thoughts were scattered. Her breathing labored. She allowed herself to moan without worry of being heard. She was first in a room of men, all of whom wanted her. She realized she was imagining the Bunny Ranch from the HBO series and smiled at the thought of her as a legal prostitute. She was then in a dark room with a woman kissing her breast and fingering her softly. Next she was on a beach and the waves were lapping around her as she rolled in the sand with a penis inside her and her hand on some unknown woman’s breast. The images were rapid and ever changing. She was pleasing and being pleased.

And soon . . . she . . . was . . . coming. She felt the throbbing intensify. She almost doubled over in the awareness of the waves that were sure to consume her. She cried out. And continued to press against herself even though pain was part of the equation. She cried out again.

And then . . . she was . . . once again still. Her mind was blank. She rested.

After several minutes, she turned the hot water on again as well as the jets. In the new flurry of activity, she looked around the room for the slip of paper Francesco had left her. She was now into the next morning so technically her vow to have a date with herself the previous morning had been accomplished. Besides, she didn’t want him to actually do anything . . . except watch.

On the Road Again

The music vibrated the walls, the table, and her bloodflow. Someone had taken great care to ensure that the volume would envelope every audience member without loss of quality. When the sax guy hit that purest of notes, she wanted to cry. When the bass player took her to the depths, she wondered if someone would be available to mop up the melting her that was leftover. And when the drum beat composed her and brought her back to the senses of the whole experience yet again, she beamed.

She loved the Thursday night jam at the R&B dive in the less-than-savory part of the city. The music made by the "you-must-be-good-because-you're-too-damnn-ugly-to-be-the-lead" players in three song sets captured her imagination and took her to places she hadn't realized existed within her. She favored the old black guys. They tore up a song. "Ain't no sunshine when she's gone" had her weepy everytime they took hold of it. And blues? Omg, just don't ask -- feel.

She always drove alone and met friends there. The group was usually eclectic -- young and old, straight and gay, partnered and not, male and female, up and coming and been there done that. They chatted on occasion and listened intently. One of their favorite moments was when the Tamale Guy arrived. He sold aluminum foil wrapped bundles of a dozen tamales for $5 and they were hot and always tasty -- especially after a couple of hours of the beer and/or wine the place kept semi-cool in their less than reliable fridges.

When she drove home (usually in the early morning hours) she kept the convertible's top down. While she knew how to pace herself near closing time, she still thought it best to have the wind in her face and she loved the way it felt in her hair.

The truckers seemed to enjoy it as well.

Especially the dark-haired, mustached one who was matching her speed in a bread truck to her left. First he nodded. Then he smiled. Then he shook his head in . . . what? regret? And then . . . he pointed to the exit ahead.

She'd never do that. Not in her former life. Not in the suits and heels corporate world she was leaving behind for a journey to the next version of her. But this wasn't then. This was the month she would launch her big adventure, trips planned to explore not just the world but what she was made of -- volunteering in Africa with health care, teaching in Taiwan, playing in Australia, and writing about every experience along the way.

Maybe the experiences didn't have to wait until the end of the month. Maybe, they could start at the next exit.

She took it.

He led the way to the parking lot of the 24 hour supermarket that was still bustling with wee morning hour customers. She felt a tinge of relief that at least if she yelled someone might hear her -- not necessarily help her, this was the city after all, but at least there'd be a witness.

She smiled at the back and forth nature of her thinking these days. Adventure/safety, risk/security, spend/save -- she was teetering on a familiar totter.

He took a moment before emerging from the rig. As he walked toward her, she admired his gait -- long strides that suggested a long ride but confidence. His jeans fit nicely. His cotton shirt was a surprise. She hadn't expected him to be a fan of Banana Republic. She noted as he got closer that the dark hair was spiced with wisps of "salt" here.

"Nice ride," he quipped as he placed one hand on the side of the hood and almost rested the other on the trunk. "Certainly an attention-getter . . . as are you."

"Thank you, sir. I'm impressed that you're not offended by the foreign brand," she'd taken a fair bit of crap from the office when she purchased the VW and was truly amazed he wasn't one of the "best made in America" voices.

"Foreign is a state of mind these days. Tell me what is made here. So ... you always take early morning drives with the top down?"

"I do when there's some good music behind me and a few miles ahead of me before I make it home. Plus, in this Texas heat, you can't find too many days to enjoy the wind in your hair."

"True that. 'Course, I'm a bit surprised you're flying solo. No one to listen to good music with? Can't imagine that a woman of your -- taste -- would find that too difficult to achieve."

"Plenty of people that I let go there separate ways when the last not sounded. I'm an extrovert with a taste for solitude as well. What about you? Always solo in that rig?"

"Pretty much. I find my independent lifestyle is not exactly conducive to a longterm relationship. Besides, tonight, it would have been a bit crowded had I seen you . . . "

"Nicely done. Even if you're shoveling at this point, I'm in the mood to hear it. Want to find a drink somewhere? And I'll listen to a bit more before making a decision."

"Decision?"

"As to whether, I want let the nice, friendly puppy follow me home."

"Don't know that I like being compared to a dog, but I definitely like your style. Sure. I've got the time. Where to?"

"There's a place around the corner that doesn't make it known that it's hours are always extended. Get it."

He did. They drove and covered the basics -- first names, home states, current occupations. She was almost startled at his ability to rapid fire the questions at her.

"Were you a journalist in a former life?" she posed.

"Cop," he offered with no commentary.

"Guess I should now feel safe or be concerned as to why you're no longer one of those and are now one of these," she pointed at a passing truck.

"Safe ... if that's what you want. Stimulated if you're looking for more. Afraid? Never. I like this moment and enjoy milking it for what it's worth but only if all agree."

"Ok, now you've got me thinking Buddhist as well."

He said nothing.

"Really? You into a bit of that."

"I like the idea of breathing in and out and recognizing that the act alone is rather amazing, so yeah, I've studied a bit."

"Reading while driving? Can't you get a ticket for that in some states?" she laughed.

"Books on CD and Google is my new best friend."

She had to laugh at the karma or stars or angels that were watching over her. He was intelligent, witty, not bad on the eyes and willing.

The bar was lit by small lamps on the tables. She order a small glass of wine and he asked for a foreign beer that she'd not heard of before.

The initial sip followed a 'salud' and silence held on as they licked their moistened lips.

"So what else you want to know?" he asked.

"Whatever I ask at this point about who you've been doesn't matter much, does it? Since you Mr. Moment, what do you want in this moment?"

"I want the woman who I saw smile across the lanes -- after watching her move to the music that was obviously thoroughly entertaining her -- I want that woman to want me."

"Done. Now what do we do with that?"

"Drink up and . . . usually, I don't get invited to the homeplace on a first 'date,'" he smiled.

"There's nothing usual about this," she said, leaving cash for the check before he could pull a bill and taking him by the hand to the convertible once again.

"If I'd known you longer, you wouldn't have been able to be that fast on the draw with the check," he countered as he almost stumbled upon leaving.

"If I'd known you longer, we might not be leaving. But I've got to do this while I'm ready for it."

Stopping, he made eye contact. "Don't if you're in any way frightened. I'm not trying to hurt you and ... frankly, it won't be that good for either one of us if you're not exactly willing!"

"I'm willing. I've just got to ride the emotional roller coaster until we get there."

He told her stories as they drove the 10 more minutes to her home. He offered up reasons for the career change -- not too unlike her own. He needed to know there was something more. Some days, he found it.

As they entered the apartment, he took the reigns of the evening. Turning her as she removed the keys from the lock and closed the door, he kissed her. She hadn't been with anyone in a few months. She loved remembering the taste of beer on a man's lips. She loved feeling out of control for one second. She loved that she was going to do this.

She waited impatiently to see where this road was heading.