It's a warm and breezy evening in early June. I've just moved in to a little studio apartment on the border of Midtown and some place slightly less savory but safe enough, and it's your first time coming over. You knock, and I greet you wearing a grass-green striped apron; you do love a man in a kitchen apron! I also have on a slim blue t-shirt, and my best grey jeans that highlight my ass. I give you a quick kiss before running back to the kitchen (which is 12 feet away) to give something a stir. Beat up brown moving boxes decorated with scraps of different colored tape left over from too many moves are stacked against the walls and lay half open on the bare hardwood floor. The new full-size bed is tucked in the corner, with fresh sheets and lots of comfy pillows. Next to the bed are a couple candles and the few books I've unpacked for grad school. My clothes and computer are still boxed up, yet I have somehow managed to unpack the liquor cabinet. The kitchen is in full swing too, spice jars and frying pans spilling out of boxes, all four gas burners going. It smells awesome.
You make your way through the chaos to the little kitchen table that I've set for two. I pour us both a glass of pinot noir, toast to us, and give you a short but luscious kiss before turning back to the kitchen. The taste of me mixes in your mouth with the flavor of the wine and gives you a tingling rush.
We start with a little cup of gazpacho. I know it isn't quite tomato season yet, but fuck it, I make good gazpacho and I'm trying to impress you. Then we have scallop ceviche, made with the fancy scallops I picked up from the fish market today. It's getting dark outside, and even though I've just moved in you notice that I paid special attention to the lighting in the room - Ikea lights don't get seductively dim and rose-colored by themselves you know. Now I bring out the main course - homemade potato gnocchi with a gorgonzola cream sauce. We started the meal with Spanish, but how can I not cook Italian for you? You think to yourself, this must have taken him hours. You'd be right, but I enjoyed every minute of it. The gnocchi are delicious, and super rich, but I've been careful to keep the portions small. We don't want to get so full that we can't move.
We have some more wine over on the bed, because there's no couch. Very convenient... I promise there will be dessert later, but right now we seem to be more interested in kissing. I kiss you slowly up your neck, from your collarbone to your chin ( I won't use anatomy terms tonight). I've waited so long, and now we can finally leave real marks on each other. I suck your neck until you gasp and I feel your nails dig into my back. You return the favor, leaving big red marks up and down my neck. I fucking love getting my neck sucked. When we kiss, you can taste the sex hormones in my mouth.
