Torrie's Story
The next day my life returned to normal. I went to the Historical Society meeting and made decisions about things that didn't matter. I giggled a little, sitting there, thinking of a joke definition of a local Historical Society - old men and old women worrying about old buildings for no apparent reason.
I cleaned my house that afternoon and watched television that night. My life was normal.
I cried out his name at night as the pleasure took me and I squeezed the candle inside of me.
"Torrie?" he asked when I answered the phone.
"Hello Roger," I said, recognizing that deep voice.
"That is flattering," he said. "Could I interest you in dinner tomorrow night?"
"And that is flattering Roger, but I don't think it would be wise," I said.
And he laughed.
"Oh Torrie," he said, "when I imagined this conversation I imagined so many possible responses but questioning wisdom was not among them."
I giggled into the phone and realized that until we had gone out after the wedding I literally could not remember the last time I had giggled. I liked it.
"Okay," he said, "but you'll come around eventually,"
And he was gone.
I was stunned. I held the phone, looking at the silent instrument for a minute or two before I put it down.
That night I masturbated again and once again I had to call his name to achieve my release.
The fourth invitation got a "yes" from me and the dinner-and-a-movie date was delightful.
When he walked me to my door he kissed me gently and then turned and walked back to the driveway and got into his car.
He courted me for a month. We would have dinner at least twice a week. Sometimes a movie. Sometimes a club. I insisted on paying at least half the time since I knew he had to be on a tight student budget. A couple of times we went to loud bars where he was known and I felt strange in a group that young. But he introduced me whenever he struck up a conversation with an acquaintance, and I was always included.
By the fourth date, I realized that I was falling in love. I kept telling myself to not be a foolish old woman, that he wouldn't call again. But he did. And I kept saying "yes."
At my door, on the tenth date, he bent to kiss me and I put my hands up between us and held him away.
"Roger," I said, looking up at him, "are you ever going to make a real pass at me or is this some platonic relationship we have going."
There was that grin again and he literally swept me off of my feet. He reached down, his forearm behind my knees and when he lifted I had no choice but to put my arms around his neck. This time the kiss was firm, and for the first time, I felt his tongue touch my lips.
He broke that kiss quickly and said "I thought you would never ask."
He carried me across the threshold, so to speak, and swung the door closed behind us with his heel. He had been in the house and had a feel for the layout.
"Upstairs and right?" he said, his intonation putting that question mark in it.
I smiled and nodded, I didn't trust my voice right then.
