decided I couldn’t go the rest of the week without satisfying
this need. I decided to text him.
Tonight. Take me out tonight.
My phone buzzed instantly with his
reply.
Ok. Be ready at 7.
I left work a little early and rushed
home to start getting ready. Getting date ready is like, a four hour process, minimum. I had to deep condition my hair,
shave every strand of body hair, vigorously exfoliate, and moisturize. 15
pounds of foundation, eyeliner, mascara, highlighter, bronzer, and lipstick
later, I can blow dry my hair. Then I have to tease it, and curl it, and flat
iron it until it rises and falls correctly, stays put and bounces in the right
places. I pull on the sexiest dress I own; it’s short, red, skin tight, and cut
obscenely low. I feel like a million bucks in it. I step into black pumps,
spray a little more hairspray, and dump the contents of my purse into a black
clutch. It’s 6:55 by the time I’m done. I grab my phone to text Cash.
Ready when you are.
I
expected him to text me back to have me meet him in the hall, so I was
surprised when I heard a knock on the door. When I opened it, Cash’s face lit
up in surprise.
“Wow.
I feel really underdressed. Should I go put my suit back on?” he teased. He was
holding a single Easter lily. “Oh, this is for you. Seemed like a really good
idea at the time, but now I realize it is ridiculously unoriginal so let’s just
not talk about it. Just, take the lily, Lilly,” he stammered. I think I was
making him nervous. This was a welcome change of pace, as he was usually the
one that made me stutter and shake.
“Thank you,” I muttered as I put the lily
in a coffee mug of water, grabbed my clutch and headed out the door. It was a
sweet gesture if not embarrassingly corny. We don’t have to talk about it.
We
didn’t talk much on the ride to the restaurant. Spring was turning into summer,
and my legs stuck to the leather seats in his car. His silence worried me. He
may have been thinking about what he wanted to do to me; peeling me out of this
dress, fucking me against the wall, or bent over the kitchen table. Or, we may
just have run out of things to talk about. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable; I
just didn’t know how to break it. I decide it doesn’t matter. I’m just along
for the ride. He parks on the street, and walks around to open my door for me. A perfect gentleman. He extends his hand to help me out of
the car. As always, his touch is electric.
Inside,
we order our meal and sip wine. I try to make small talk, complaining about my
day at work. He seems disinterested and a little on edge. This goes on through
half the meal, until he finally looks me dead in the eyes and breaks his
silence.
“I’m
sorry, I’m being really weird,” he apologizes.
“Really?
You are? I didn’t notice,” I tease, taking a sip of my wine.
“Funny. I just… I don’t… I can’t…” he trails
off.
“You
can’t what?” I asked.
“I
can’t…. focus. I really wanted tonight to not be about sex. Well, not just sex, anyway. I am definitely
fucking you tonight. I just really don’t want this, us, to be just sex. But
it’s all I can think about. I can’t stop thinking about where your research led
you. What you want to try. What you want me to do to you,” he whispered. This sent desire shooting through me. I
shifted in my seat.
“Well,
I’m not talking about it here. You know, we could have gotten this conversation
out of the way in the car and moved on to talking about embarrassing family
stuff or fourth grade teachers by now,” I replied.
“I
know. I’m sorry. I was just really, really trying not to bring it up,” he said.
I told him it was fine, and promised I would tell him all about my foray into
the world of BDSM porn on the way home. He finally loosened up, and
conversation flowed a little more easily.
It
was dark by the time we
this need. I decided to text him.
Tonight. Take me out tonight.
My phone buzzed instantly with his
reply.
Ok. Be ready at 7.
I left work a little early and rushed
home to start getting ready. Getting date ready is like, a four hour process, minimum. I had to deep condition my hair,
shave every strand of body hair, vigorously exfoliate, and moisturize. 15
pounds of foundation, eyeliner, mascara, highlighter, bronzer, and lipstick
later, I can blow dry my hair. Then I have to tease it, and curl it, and flat
iron it until it rises and falls correctly, stays put and bounces in the right
places. I pull on the sexiest dress I own; it’s short, red, skin tight, and cut
obscenely low. I feel like a million bucks in it. I step into black pumps,
spray a little more hairspray, and dump the contents of my purse into a black
clutch. It’s 6:55 by the time I’m done. I grab my phone to text Cash.
Ready when you are.
I
expected him to text me back to have me meet him in the hall, so I was
surprised when I heard a knock on the door. When I opened it, Cash’s face lit
up in surprise.
“Wow.
I feel really underdressed. Should I go put my suit back on?” he teased. He was
holding a single Easter lily. “Oh, this is for you. Seemed like a really good
idea at the time, but now I realize it is ridiculously unoriginal so let’s just
not talk about it. Just, take the lily, Lilly,” he stammered. I think I was
making him nervous. This was a welcome change of pace, as he was usually the
one that made me stutter and shake.
“Thank you,” I muttered as I put the lily
in a coffee mug of water, grabbed my clutch and headed out the door. It was a
sweet gesture if not embarrassingly corny. We don’t have to talk about it.
We
didn’t talk much on the ride to the restaurant. Spring was turning into summer,
and my legs stuck to the leather seats in his car. His silence worried me. He
may have been thinking about what he wanted to do to me; peeling me out of this
dress, fucking me against the wall, or bent over the kitchen table. Or, we may
just have run out of things to talk about. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable; I
just didn’t know how to break it. I decide it doesn’t matter. I’m just along
for the ride. He parks on the street, and walks around to open my door for me. A perfect gentleman. He extends his hand to help me out of
the car. As always, his touch is electric.
Inside,
we order our meal and sip wine. I try to make small talk, complaining about my
day at work. He seems disinterested and a little on edge. This goes on through
half the meal, until he finally looks me dead in the eyes and breaks his
silence.
“I’m
sorry, I’m being really weird,” he apologizes.
“Really?
You are? I didn’t notice,” I tease, taking a sip of my wine.
“Funny. I just… I don’t… I can’t…” he trails
off.
“You
can’t what?” I asked.
“I
can’t…. focus. I really wanted tonight to not be about sex. Well, not just sex, anyway. I am definitely
fucking you tonight. I just really don’t want this, us, to be just sex. But
it’s all I can think about. I can’t stop thinking about where your research led
you. What you want to try. What you want me to do to you,” he whispered. This sent desire shooting through me. I
shifted in my seat.
“Well,
I’m not talking about it here. You know, we could have gotten this conversation
out of the way in the car and moved on to talking about embarrassing family
stuff or fourth grade teachers by now,” I replied.
“I
know. I’m sorry. I was just really, really trying not to bring it up,” he said.
I told him it was fine, and promised I would tell him all about my foray into
the world of BDSM porn on the way home. He finally loosened up, and
conversation flowed a little more easily.
It
was dark by the time we
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