by Zoey Kinsman
“Don’t play coy with me, Anne; what did he want?” She was all excited with anticipation of my great story of Paul Wickham.
But I hadn’t thought it through yet and needed some time to formulate something believable.
“Trish, I haven’t even had coffee or breakfast yet. Can you please quickly pick something up at Starbucks for me? You know, duty before pleasure!” I laughed to make light and not to let on that I needed space to concoct a story.
“Sure, I’ll go right now, but as soon as I get back I want all the details.”
Yikes, I didn’t think she wanted all the details, or to hear how yummy he tasted. Or, maybe she did? I shook my head in disbelief that I was going to such lengths to cover up a make-out session with Paul Wickham. But in the end, I didn’t want to risk her feeling hurt on any level. A silly business story would be best.
When she came back with a large coffee and a much-needed breakfast sandwich, she gave me five minutes before launching into the question period.
“Okay, spill it; what did he want to talk to you about?”
I wondered what her reaction would be if I told her that he was actually really hot for me. After all, she did say last night that I was still attractive. Maybe it was the long legs that matched the long honey colored hair that still made me attractive. It seemed to be the consensus among men that I had dated many moons ago.
But instead I replied, “Oh, he only wanted to talk to me about writing a memoir.”
“What did you tell him? I hope you told him you could help him with that and get it published. You know he’s had such a hard life. I’m glad he’s done well.”
Actually, I knew nothing about him except that his lips tasted divine and his dick was, in fact, huge.
“I said I would think on it and we would talk some more. Then he took me home and I thanked him for the ride.”
“Well, that’s good. Maybe he’ll come around more now, and I can work on him.” She laughed unknowingly.
“Honestly Trish, I don’t think he’s your type.” Should I tell her how he fancies older women?
“Why do you say that? Is it that I’m not good enough?”
“Absolutely not! Perhaps it’s because I think you might be too good. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“You have to stop worrying about me. I love you for it, but sometimes one just has to go down their own road of discovery.”
Words to live by! Perhaps my meeting up with Paul was part of my own journey.
“You’re so right, Trish. I trust you to know what to do.”
We both paused to regroup.
“Okay now, let’s get on with our day. I’ll take my messages and then start my communications. If I have time left in the day, I’ll read some pages of submissions you’ve approved for my review.”
“Great, I’ll go get everything ready for you.”
Booting up my computer and waiting for her return, I thought about Paul and our impending dinner date this evening. I found myself smiling and thinking how nice it would be to see him again. Maybe it would be genuinely nice to get to know him better. It had been a long time since I’d let myself make new friends. Hmm, friends…
Why couldn’t I stop thinking about him? Where was Grumpy Cat to remind me that I needed to be a bit salty to work well?
After Trish brought me all my materials, I decided to look him up on the Internet and see what info I could find on him. To my astonishment there wasn’t a lot there. Just some early articles of where he was born and his upbringing, and that his early life had indeed been harsh. The rest seemed to have been scrubbed clean by his public relations team. I wondered what Trish knew from her blogs that I didn’t know. But I couldn’t ask her, because that would be letting on that I was interested in him.
Trying my best, I settled into the day and began my work.
Far away in thought from the previous night, I was interrupted when Trish ran into my office with the most beautiful and fragrant bouquet of red roses, displayed in a large square vase with evergreen and tiny white baby’s breath flowers. It had to be at least two dozen red roses that filled my entire room with the sweetest smell of fresh blooms.
My mind wandered aimlessly for minutes until Trish brought me back to reality.
There was a card attached. Trish handed it to me and asked, “Who’s it from and what does it say?”
I knew who it was from but had no idea what it would say.
Covering the card with my hand as much as I could so she couldn’t see the writing, I read it to myself. He had written: Remember me. Tonight. Paul xo
How could I ever forget him now? And I was a sucker for roses! But he didn’t know that. How could he know that?
“Spill it, who’s it from?”
Being lost in this man again, I had forgotten about Trish once more. I felt awful. “It’s from Paul Wickham. He wanted to thank me for listening to his memoir proposal, and hopes we’ll meet soon to discuss it. I think he’s trying to butter me up.” With that I dismissed the topic, put the card in my pocket, and made like I was going back to work.
“You know, Anne, if I didn’t know you better, I would think that he’s coming on to you with red roses and you just don’t see it.”
“Don’t be silly. That’s just nonsense.” And now I really had to make out like I was concentrating on my work or she’d see right through me.
Waiting till she walked out, I got up and went to close my door tightly behind her. It was our signal that I was deep in thought and didn’t want to be disturbed. I was also glad I didn’t have to answer any more of Trish’s probing questions. She and her Internet chums liked to hypothesize about him during lunch break. No way did I want any part of that conversation.
I pulled the card out of my pocket and read it again and again, my brain hypnotized in his direction.
Finally returning the note to my pocket, I went back to getting my work done. Yet somehow the memory, touch, and taste of him kept creeping back up, making me smile. His pull called to me. The wonderful smell of the flowers invited me to remember, losing myself to his enticement.
Thankfully, the rest of the day went by quickly.
To Trish’s surprise, I decided to pack up and head home early. I usually worked late, but today a five o’clock quitting time would allow me to get home, have a leisurely bath or shower, and get ready for our evening out.
Trying to exit the office as quickly as possible, with a wave goodbye I left her behind looking bewildered and perplexed. It was actually quite comical. Her face said she didn’t know what to make of it.
“Anne, are you okay? Are you sick or something?” I heard her call out as I kept moving.
“No, I’m good, don’t worry. Pack up and go home, too,” I called out as I was just out the door.
Phew, I was in my car and moving toward my home…moving fast toward an unknown.
* * * *
After my bath, my routine of applying cologne, and just the right amount of “natural” looking make-up, I stood in my walk-in closet trying to figure out what to wear. What should I wear for a man who seemingly had it all and could have any woman he wanted easily, except for me? That made me question myself as to why I had agreed to see him again. Was it to make a friend like I’d been saying all along? Make him like me? Make myself believe I still had it? Or simply make him horny? Or, was it all of the above? The answers weren’t there yet, but it was obvious that I liked him on some level.
Focusing on getting ready now, I lifted and separated the boobs in one of my sexier bras. Truth be told, thank God the girls still had some umph of their own. However, the tummy was, in my estimation, still in need of some sucking in. But I didn’t want to go with the tight control tonight. I thought he might have felt the undergarment when we were making out. It embarrassed me. How do you cover that up? Should I have just said, “Oh, sorry, but a woman’s got to do what a woman’s got to do?” That would have been worse. So I played it like it was just an everyday occurrence for women
to wear snuggly fit elastic, stretchy things that sucked them in so tight that they couldn’t breathe, yet made for a fabulous silhouette. Yeah, that was it. Natural!
Then the question of what to wear came back. Ugh, this was a harder decision than I’d thought. I didn’t know where we were going. If I had asked, then I could have dressed accordingly. I realized I hadn’t even taken his cell number in case I needed to get in touch. Where was my head? Well, my hand was on his crotch, so my head must have left the limo. Ha, that was a yummy memory!
Jeans! I would wear jeans and dress up the top. It could be casual if called for and a bit fancier if needed. Yeah, jeans with a free flowing multi-colored top and a black jacket. Open-toed wedges on my manicured feet would complete the look.
I was ready with five minutes to spare. Running to the kitchen, I grabbed a hunk of cheese and few crackers, quickly washing it down with some water. The worst thing was to be hungry on a date. Was this a date? Another application of red lipstick to make a statement and I was ready to go.
The doorbell rang precisely at seven o’clock, as he had promised. He was wearing jeans, too…I’d gotten it right. Score one for team me! But he wore them with a white shirt that had the slightest pinstripe. With his lightly tanned skin, he looked so handsome. And then there was that woodsy, manly smell again that so attracted me. I took a step back to regroup and not let on just how much of an unsteadying impact he had on me.
“Good evening, beautiful. You look amazing, if I’m allowed to say.”
I smiled at him
He stretched out his hand to me and I took it. Words were failing me now. Using the excuse of locking up gave me a few moments to collect myself.
Again, he opened the limo door for me, and I entered first. He sat right up next to me.
“Driver, we will be going to The Fountain, and please raise the privacy glass. Thank you.”
When the glass was raised, he took my hand in his and I turned to meet his stare. “Anne, I’ve waited so long for the chance to get to know you. I’m really excited.” He kissed my hand and my knees went weak, like a silly high-school girl. Snap out of it and get it together, girlfriend, I told myself.
“Well Paul, I hope I don’t disappoint you. I’m just a woman like most. Self-sufficient, capable, and I like to believe a touch interesting. I work in the publishing business, as you know, and I know what I like and dislike. There’s nothing really special to know.”
“You sell yourself short. There is so much I want to know…but, we have lots of time to find each other out. And I’m especially looking forward to finding out all your little deep, dark, hidden secrets.”
“I don’t think I have many, or any at all. My life is an open book that can be read on the Internet.”
“I don’t think the Internet can tell me how loud you’ll moan when I make you come. I don’t think it’ll tell me what your pussy tastes like in my mouth. I want to know how you feel in my arms when I’ve brought you to the brink and then beyond.”
I reached for a bottle of the fancy water in the limo and had to open it and take one big long gulp before answering him.
“What makes you think you’re going to get to know that stuff about me? Remember, we had promised each other friendship.”
“Oh, I see you’re sticking with that and couldn’t care less about my boner problem.” He laughed out loud with that comment.
“You got it, babe!” I laughed in return to lighten the mood, then quickly took another sip of that fancy water.
As he watched me intently as I drank that water to cool my inner core, I felt his eyes probing, trying to figure me out. Could he tell I was a bit nervous? The successful business woman with years of experience with well-known people was actually nervous.
As soon as I put that bottle back in the cup holder, as a seemingly confident man would do, he reached for me and his lips found their way onto me, pressing, wanting, and his tongue found its own way into me. Our mouths connected once more with the same bravado as the night before, and that spellbinding dizzy feeling once more overtook me. Yet, my nerves settled somewhat with the reassurance of connection.
My perfectly applied lipstick was now smudged all over both of us, but no one cared. On and on I let him touch me and tempt me with his hot wickedness.
And he was so hot wicked!
His fingers danced over my body with interludes all along my arms and down my legs. The wetness between my thighs gave me pause. That hadn’t happened in the longest time. His arousal was encompassing and expert. The world was spinning out of my control, and I was dancing along.
The more I questioned in my mind what was happening, the more I wanted him to alleviate my need. Not wanting it to ever end, my body gave in to his tantalizing moves. Fluid, pulsing rhythms of him beat on my desire. He felt me lean in further and further.
Then the limo stopped abruptly, signaling an end to our sweet torturous kisses.
We were disheveled and knew to straighten up quickly. We had arrived at our destination. Fixing my hair and lipstick, I watched Paul fix his pants so as to cover his bulge and give it time to return to normal before we got out.
I laughed out loud, pointed to his pants, and asked, “Did I do that?”
“Yeah, and you have made my boner problem even worse now. You’re a big tease, dearest friend.”
He took my hand as the driver opened the door. “Come now, my beauty, I need a drink to handle the smoke between us.” He didn’t laugh with that remark, but instead was dead serious.
Following him along the cobblestone walkway to the door of the restaurant, the mild summer night air blew through my hair and on my flushed skin to refresh me. It felt good to be walking beside this newfound supposed friend who knew how to expertly crank up my gears. One thing Paul Wickham could do well was make a girl feel alive again. But was I ready to be brought back to life? Life outside my secure bubble could be calling, but I decided to put that introspective part of me on hold for the evening. Part of me insisted on having a good time. It had been so long…
Still hand in hand, we headed to the host desk and Paul announced our arrival quite nonchalantly. The man stood immediately and said, “Follow me, Mr. Wickham.”
Moving to the back, I realized that again he had reserved a private room for only the two of us.
As he pulled out the chair for me, I asked him quite frankly, “What’s up with all this private room stuff? Are you afraid or embarrassed to be seen with me? Let’s get the truth out on the table.”
“No, no, of course not, Anne, where would you get such a silly idea?”
He seemed genuinely concerned. Upset etched his face.
“I’m happy to sit with the masses and am not in need of preferred treatment. Or, tell me now, is it the age thing that really bothers you?”
That remark left me feeling vulnerable. Why had I gone there? I had promised myself to keep it light and Grumpy Cat had agreed to keep it cool. Why was I even here tonight?
He was impatient now. “Are you kidding me? I sought you out. I wanted to be with you. So how can you say I booked this room because I don’t want to be seen with you? You insult me. I’m truly insulted!” His voiced rose to match his distress. He looked away to regroup, and when his face returned to meet my stare, he simply stated for the record, “Anne, I book the private room of all restaurants because I frankly don’t want to be swarmed by fans during dinner. I want to enjoy the food, the ambience, and the company. Why do you have to say things that paint me as a brute?”
Looking down into my lap now, I knew that I had jumped to conclusions. Perhaps my tainted heart and a touch of Grumpy Cat were showing. He didn’t deserve that.
“I’m sorry, Paul. Surely you know I am skeptical by natural. I let it spill out. Your answer makes total sense, and I should have stopped to reflect first. Please forgive me.”
His face lit up and his demeanor changed immediately after I asked for forgiveness. Regaining his composure, he reached to take my hand once more. Qu
ietly he whispered in my direction, “I think I would forgive you almost anything.”
“Thank you.” My appreciative smile reached his eyes. The blue light of magic within them turned back on and welcomed me into his space once more.
The waiter came back just in time for a drink order and to run down a list of daily specials. Both of us were happy for the distraction.
Martinis called to us. The place was known for them, so we decided to dabble and try a few.
“I’ll have a dirty martini, please, and extra on the dirty.”
He was looking straight at me when he ordered that, and I felt my knees go weak from what he was suggesting. Grateful to already be sitting down, I wondered how I could ever keep him at arm’s length.
“Madam, what would you like?” So the waiter thought I was a madam and not a miss. Interesting, but sadly true. I was past my prime of being a miss. Did Paul pick up on that? The waiter was waiting for my drink order, calling me to look past the comment.
“Umm, I think I’m going to go with a champagne martini.”
As soon as the waiter was out of ear shot, I explained to Paul that I’d made that choice in martini because I, too, wanted to celebrate our getting to know each other better.
He laughed and just shook his head at me, and said, “What am I going to do with you?”
Laughing together with this very curious man who knew how to make me feel giddy and a bit wobbly inside was admittedly so much fun. My logical self always tried to keep that fun-loving, off-balanced side quietly hidden. Though tonight little side pieces of fun did drop out easily and lingered for me to see.
“Yes, what will you do with me?”
“Well, I would love to see your ass so I could give it a good spank or two, and then kiss it tenderly ’til you wanted more. I’d love to see your reaction to that, although I think your strong feminist side would see it more as offensive rather than stimulating…hmm…I wonder.” He looked off into the distance to think about it.
He would probably never know that I liked a man to dominate me in bed, that I wanted him to take charge. I was sick of always making all the decisions. Every day in business I was called upon to make life-altering decisions for serious writers. It was harder than I let on. In bed, I wanted the decisions made for me. And I liked sex back then when it was more readily available. I liked it a lot.
