I was in a meeting and my phone pulsed on my hip. I reflexively grabbed it and stole a peek. "She-Who-Visits" had caught me in mid-sentence. Grudgingly, I banished her to voice mail. Later, as I greedily listened to her cheerfully christen me useless for not being around when she calls, I learned she was here. In New York!! Did I want to have dinner!!! A couple of weeks ago she had mentioned that it was possible she'd be here for just a few days in June to visit her parents, but I had heard nothing. And you'd best believe I'd asked. Usually when she visits she gives me plenty of lead time so I can work myself up into a slavering frenzy.
I called her back. Did I want to have dinner tomorrow night? Up north by her? Get back to me, gotta finish shopping - go way!
"She" is very present tense focused. I was a day away - the mall was here and now. Her recent personal parsimony aside the sting just made me smile. I told myself she meant it with love. But over the next twenty four hours with each unanswered email, unreturned phone call, and ignored text I knew in my heart it was another excruciating exercise in the unrequited.
"I just need to be free", I muttered under my breath to nobody in particular. This just doesn't work for me. Finally, as the clock approached three in the afternoon, I called her yet again. An answer.
"Oh god, the cut is wrong. The color is awful. Auburn!! Can you imagine? It just makes my whole face look red. Dinner? Well, if you want to. Call the restaurant and see if you can get a reservation. And get the little table in the corner on the banquette. Can you be here by seven?"
I called, I cajoled, I reserved. I cleared decks, trimmed sails, and battened down hatches. At 5:15 I jumped into a black car on a corner near Wall Street and set off at the height of the nascent summer crush for Northern Westchester. An hour and change later we passed the George Washington Bridge. My phone rang.
"Are you almost here? No? Well I'm going to do an extra wash and rinse, maybe that will help this mess. Just thought I'd tell you. I might be late in case you were wondering where I was."
She's always late. A trait I adore since I love waiting - way T&D. From the Bridge my driver sprouted wings and flew. We were in the restaurant parking lot only five minutes late. I got my beloved anticipation. I sat and I decompressed, wondering if this trek was really worth it. The MIA, the hot and cold, the incommunicado. It all just sucked.
Then she walked in and it became an evening from heaven.
We've always done dinner in the most intimate and romantic fashion. Dinner with She is how I became more comfortable in my subbie guy skin. Dinner with She changed my life. We chatted about the banal and shared our deepest personal problems and concerns. Our eyes misted and we cracked each other up. We reminisced about our increasingly substantial past and conspired about our oh-so-priceless future. And in an intoxicating swirl from fried avocado with mango coulis to her favorite chocolate mousse souffle it was over. We held hands like teenagers. I caressed each graceful finger.
"I'm syphoning your fortune, one dinner at time", she smirked. "Time to go."
In the parking lot she leaned against her mother's car, drew me close and kissed me softly. I held her, never wanting to let go again.
"Move your hands down my back," she murmured.
"Put your hands on my ass," she sighed demandingly.
"Take your right hand and hike my dress up."
Boy did I!!
"That's it. Now put your hand on my ass."
I shook and buckled into her, breathing hard. She had no panties on.
"Put your hand in there, in between, in deep," her breath husky in my ear.
As I shyly probed a single digit, she reached around and thrust my index finger home, her hot whisper - I didn't wipe well.
"That's enough.", she cooed. "And don't touch me with that hand. And don't wash it. You can smell me for awhile longer."
I told her I was never washing my right hand again and was going to tape a plastic bag around it forever. She collapsed with a wonderful case of the giggles.
A final kiss and she drove away, into the suburban night. Gone.
Prostate - Milking vs Orgasm
4 months ago