Samuel caught me after church the other day and asked me to meet him for lunch. I like the way he does that. He'll sidle up and sort of whisper his request out of the side of his mouth while pretending to smile at all the other people filing out. Then he turns with a look of surprise and says "Oh, Hi there! How nice to see you, Mary!" He reaches out for my hand, just a warm greeting as he would for any other, but he holds it just a moment longer with a look of anticipation till I give him a smile and the briefest, demure nod.
We don't really need any more words at that point, because we have been doing this for weeks. Sam and I will be meeting at the Denny's on Cross street on Wednesday at noon. Yes, I know that is across town, but we're both in committed relationships, and in this neighborhood, reputations matter.
The Delmar Express bus really doesn't stop much between here and there, and it's generally pretty empty at this time. So it was today, and I had plenty of time on my hands. Now, I'm not a vain person, and I certainly don't use much make-up.. ever, but I do carry a small mirror in my purse. So, I checked myself just to make sure there weren't any strange hairs sticking out or stuff stuck in my teeth. I know Sam prefers natural, unpretentious women anyway but I did not want to scare him away.
The hostess at Denny's knows us well enough now to know at our favorite spot is the red pleather booth, back in the corner. She seated me with two menus without even asking the number in my party, and asked if I wanted water or coffee to start. I told her I did, and as she scooted away, Sam came brushing past her to our table with his jacket in hand.
"Hi-ya, Mary!" he greeted me with his arms outspread. He embraced me and I encircled his waist. It feels so good to have my body against his, my head comfortably nuzzled in his chest- even if it is only for a few brief seconds. It feels of safety and contentment.. And love. He kissed the top of my head and we slid into the booth.
*****
Niceties exchanged, food ordered, coffee poured; it was Sam's place to open the conversation, and he opened with this:
"Mary, I think Jasmine Wilson was hitting on me at Mass the other day." He said, matter-of-factly.
"Oh, really?" I said "Why do you say that?"
"Well, she had that dress on. You know the sheer one, that's a little too low cut for church. When we passed in the aisle, she made sure I could not miss her chest, or her ass for that matter. And she gave me that look like 'Hey, I bet you would bed me down if you could, so why don't you try?'"
I laughed, thinking of Jasmine Wilson. Yes, she does that and she does that with pretty much all of the guys.
"No," I responded, "What I meant was, why do you say that to ME?"
He appeared a little surprised and then he took on a sly smile. "Well, I figured there were two ways you could react, and I wanted to see which way you would go. The first would be to agree that Jasmine is a fine looking woman and you would enjoy being with her as much as I would- in which case, there is a whole new realm of possibility..."
I shook my head from side to side, and kept my face neutral.
He laughed, and continued, "The second would be a look of hurt that I would consider fucking Jasmine Wilson instead of fucking you- and then you would demand that I take you to the nearest hotel and make mad, passionate love to you..."
I slapped the table, laughing, said, "And there is third option, where Jasmine doesn't get laid and neither do you. In fact, that is the most likely alternative, don't you think?"
Sam shrugged is shoulders, rolling his eyes up and out, while rocking his outstretched hands like he is weighing two cantaloupes. "Ahhhh, yes, of course you're right," he said with a grin.
Suddenly, I had a vision that made me shudder. I pictured Sam's head in Jasmine Wilson's lap suckling on one of her cow tits, making an unk-unk noise as a trickle of milk rolled down his cheek. Now Jasmine is instructing me with those over-bright red lips that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach... Ick!
Not happy with that image, I inserted myself into Jasmine's place. Much better.
"So, tell me, Sam," I asked as I leaned forward, glancing around for looky-loos. "What would you do with these?" I held my breasts on the sides and waggled them up and down. Then I pushed them together so what cleavage I had was clearly visible over my the top of my scoop-neck tee.
Sam was staring at my tits and, deep in thought, he held one finger to his lips, like that would stop some errant words from coming out of his mouth.
