I was working for a company 300 miles from home, so that meant driving up Monday, staying there, and driving home Friday. Tired of the Ramada Inn, I got the company to rent me an apartment.
It was a small duplex in a lower-class part of this small Ohio city. Over some weeks, I started running into some of my fellow apartment dwellers.
I found the apartment across the hall was inhabited by two Hispanic sisters, one in her early 20s and the other perhaps a decade older. They were earthy and not unattractive. Always wore jeans and sweatshirts. Had great smiles.
I'm a good cook, so one day I asked if they'd like to come over for dinner some night. They said they would and we made a date for that Wednesday. I decided to make lasagna, meat balls and salad. My lasagna is killer. Also, I could make it ahead and wouldn't have to run around the kitchen while my guests waited.
The ladies arrived on time and when I opened the door my eyes just about popped out of my head. They were both dolled up in slinky dresses and heels, make-up, hair down, and just a hint of perfume.
Estella, the older one, wore red, and Maria black. They greeted me with hugs and exclaimed how good it smelled in my apartment. I opened a bottle of Sangiovese, poured us all a glass and led them into the living room.
They sat on the sofa and I opposite. We chatted and sipped wine. Small talk about the apartment building and neighborhood, where we worked and so on. They both seemed so happy to be there. It occurred to me that perhaps no man had ever offered to cook for them.
After about 20 minutes I excused myself to finish preparations. I took the lasagna and meat balls out of the oven where they had been warming and transferred them to serving dishes. I dressed the salad with extra virgin olive oil, red wine vinegar and sea salt. I brought the food to the table. I lit candles on the table and around the dining area and lowered the lights. I opened another bottle of wine and poured it. I also poured glasses of San Pellegrino water. Then I returned to the living room and escorted the ladies to the dining area.
It was clear Estella and Maria were pleased by the setting. I offered a toast to good company and we started eating. The ladies exclaimed with each first bite of lasagna and meat balls how good the food was, and they were not shy or picky eaters like some women.
When we were all done eating, I told them I had prepared a special dessert, but I knew we were too full to enjoy it right then. Would they like to stay a while longer? They looked at each other and Estella, said "yes."
I led them back to the living room and put on my favorite Dean Martin CD. I asked Estella if she'd like to dance and she again said "yes." I'm not much of a dancer, but when a ballad is on I know what to do. I held her close, my left hand clasping her right and my right hand on the small of her back. We stepped slowly with the music. She rested her cheek against mine.
When "Non Dimenticar" ended and "Everybody Loves Somebody" began I asked Maria, the younger sister, to dance. She seemed shy about it, but Estella encouraged her. This song had a faster beat, and so she wouldn't be self-conscious, I stood slightly apart from her as we danced. But I looked in her eyes. I think perhaps she had never slow danced before, but I could see she liked it.
After that dance, Estella patted the middle seat on the sofa, indicating I should sit there on her left. She gave a knowing look to Maria, who sat to my left. As Dino played on, Estella leaned over, put her hand on my chest, closed her eyes and we kissed. And we kissed.
After a few minutes of this I was worried Maria would be embarrassed or uncomfortable as this was going on, but then I felt a hand on my left thigh that moved up my body to my right cheek and pulled my head away from Estella to face her sister.
Maria looked in my eyes and then slammed her mouth to mine. Quickly her tongue was in my mouth flicking hither and yon, while both hands held my face in place. And then I felt a hand on my right thigh that moved gently over what was now a visible bulge in my pants and back to rest on my thigh.
Then I heard Estella ask if it was time for dessert. Indeed.
* * *
Tiramisu is one of those foods that, once they become ubiquitous on restaurant menus, begin to lose their authenticity and descend into mediocrity. But made authentically, it is as stimulating and sensual a dessert as one can find.
Italian ladyfingers are dipped in a mixture of espresso and sweet Marsala wine and placed in the bottom of a baking dish. Luscious mascarpone cheese is combined with eggs, sugar and whipped cream, and layered over the ladyfingers. Then repeat with another layer of wine and espresso dipped ladyfingers, and another layer of the creamy cheese mixture. Chill overnight and just before serving, top with shavings of bittersweet chocolate.
I brought this confection to the living room, setting it on a table before Estella and Maria. I brought one plate and one fork.
I cut a serving from the baking dish and placed it on the plate. Took the fork, cut a mouthful, and brought it to Estella's lips. She closed her eyes, opened her mouth and drew it in. A moan escaped her as the smooth richness hit her.
I took another forkful and offered it to Maria. She smiled at me and then chomped down on the fork, sucking the cake into her mouth. But then her eyes closed too as she ate it.
Then I took a forkful for myself, began eating it, took Estella's face in my hands and began to kiss her, the natural flavors of our mouths mixing with the cheese, cream, coffee and chocolate flavors of the tiramisu.
Maria began unbuttoning my shirt, then reached for the baking dish and scooped up some of the mascarpone in her hand. Seductively, she licked a little of it and then circled her creamy finger around my nipple, depositing a dollop there. She leaned over and licked it up and then sucked at my nipple. Now my eyes closed.
