I shudder as the whoremonger with the predilection for hitting on anyone with a vagina under the age of fifty pops to mind. “No, Jimmy didn’t teach me much—except how to cry.”
Carla’s face crumbles. “Oh, geez. I’m sorry for bringing up that rat bastard’s name.”
I pat her hand to reassure her. “No big deal. I’ve certainly picked more than my share of jerks the past six years.” Carla and I met in the advertising firm when we were both fresh out of college. She was a natural in sales and went on to head her own accounts at a smaller firm while I stayed with the same company, slowly working my way through the ranks to my current position as assistant to the CFO.
My old friend wiggles her eyebrows, possibly looking to change the topic. “So, what do you plan on doing this weekend with Tony? You gonna go out and buy a bunch of sado-masochistic toys and do up your spare bedroom like some freaky-ass Fifty Shades of Grey scenario?”
“No!” Horror wizzes through me at the mention of the popular book. “I’m willing to try some new stuff and step out of my comfort zone, not take on a whole new lifestyle.”
“I dunno, this high-powered corporate guy might be into all that whips and chains shit.”
I doubt Carla has read the book, and neither have I, so I refrain from commenting any more. “There’s got to be a middle ground.” I reach around in my mind and debate explaining some of the passionate scenes I’ve read and have dreamt of trying with someone I trust.
Carla still doesn’t look convinced. She glances at her watch. “Sorry, but this time I really do need to jet. I’m going to be late for my spin class if I don’t hurry.”
I nod and rise to give her a hug goodbye. She flounces toward the door with her normal effervescence, attracting attention from men as her golden head weaves through the tables.
In a moment I’m alone, staring into my cold coffee. How far am I willing to take this game with Tony? His nervous reaction today was a complete surprise. It enabled me to slip into the act much more easily than the night before.
Telling him I planned to call him tomorrow puts me in a new quandary. What the hell am I going to do with him this weekend? Is this all about sex and me fulfilling some fantasy he might be having? Or do I invite him on a normal date?
Gathering my belongings, I decide to walk the five blocks home. Maybe inspiration will hit me on the city streets. The smiling man with the iPad glances up as I pass. He’s in his mid-thirties and quite handsome. He raises his cup and tips his head to me before allowing his eyes to travel down my figure, lingering on my exposed legs. His bold stare swells my chest with confidence.
Could he really have heard the part Carla said so loudly about the patio? I hold my head up and decide I don’t care. I arrange my features in a pleasant expression, giving him no invitation to go further and keep moving toward the door, emboldened by the attention.
The elation lasts a few blocks and I pause outside a small bodega, eyeing a grouping of fresh strawberries. In a book I read last month, there was an intimate picnic for two where they fed one another and then boinked like rabbits on the checkered blanket. Hmm…I could do a bunch of finger foods in my living room and we could see where it leads.
Do I want to have sex with him this weekend? I cross the suggestion off my mental list of possible developments. It’s too soon.
A chill of hesitation wraps around my heart. If I perform any scenario as myself, he might not be interested. What better place to dress up and try slipping on a new skin than in the privacy of my own home? That way, if I mess up no one will witness my humiliation except me.
Well, me and the man I’m with. But who am I to kid myself? I have no doubt he’s in this for the sexual thrill. Not because he wants me for me. Heck, how could it be for anything else when we don’t even know each other? If he doesn’t like what I try and he leaves then I’ll know this whole idea is a wash. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
I fill a basket with fruits and vegetables, a clear plan forming in my mind of what I can prepare to serve him. And maybe, if I steer the night exactly like I want, I might be able to pull it off. There’s one more store I want to hit and then I’ll be ready for Saturday.
It’s Friday, minutes before five o’clock. I’ve let him stew long enough. If he’s like anyone I’ve known who was even remotely interested in a person, he’ll be thinking I changed my mind by now. I practiced what I’d say over and over until I had the tone and inflection exactly as I want. After two sessions of deep breathing into a paper bag, I’m calm enough to call.