Valery and Samara sat in the cafe, drinking coffee. She wanted to know how his date had gone and he was happy to talk about it.
'She's the most sexually repressed woman you can imagine,' Val explained.
Samara stirred her coffee. 'Sorry. I thought she sounded alright. Better luck with the next one.'
He shook his head. 'No, I'm not interested in another one - although whatever you did to my profile, thanks, because woman are now contacting me - I like her. I'm going to work on the sex angle. She's coming over on Friday night.'
'Where are you taking her?'
'I'm not. I'm going to make her dinner, then we're going to smoke some weed, hopefully finish watching the movie we started last week, and I'm going to try and get her to cum.'
Samara looked at him like he was crazy. 'Val, you do that stuff after you've been together six months. You need to impress her. Make her feel special.'
'I don't earn enough to keep that shit up. She may as well see what it's really like.'
Samara sipped her coffee. 'Whatever floats your boat, I suppose.'
Her reaction worried him. He did, as a matter of fact, like Aimee, and he thought it would be nice to have a quiet evening together, where they could get stoned and wind down from the week together. He was determined to bring her to climax. He wanted to see the expression on her face when she came.
'You could always cook naked,' Samara suggested. 'How she reacts would give you a good insight into how she really is.'
'There's a thought.'
'Or is she super repressed?'
Val considered the question. 'She's not against sex. She was actually pretty decent in bed. The issue is her self esteem. One of her ex partners told her he wasn't attracted to her and would only have sex with her in the dark, or if she kept her shirt on.'
'That's disgusting.'
'I concur. It's also fucking weird. She's a good looking woman. Whoever told her she was ugly has rocks in his head.'
Samara looked at him thoughtfully. 'Do you think she'll get to a point where she's willing to play with you?'
He shrugged. 'We'll have to see. I hope so.'
~~~~~~~~~
The instructions had been simple; arrive at seven, be prepared to spend the night, and wear something that made her feel sexy.
There was an aggression to Val's instructions that she hadn't encountered with any of her previous lovers. No, aggression wasn't the right word. Dominance? Was that the word? Yes, dominance was much better, even if it tended to suggest cruelty, a trait she was now quite sure he didn't possess.
She'd sent Ben to stay with her mother, dressed in a tight green dress and heels, and headed over to Val's house. It was early spring and the night air was still frigid, but he'd assured her that he'd have the wood heater going, and she wouldn't need a jumper or coat.
Aimee arrived five minutes early. She knocked on the door apprehensively, a bottle of red clutched under one arm. He'd told her not to bring anything, but it seemed rude to show up empty-handed.
He opened the door wearing an apron and nothing else. Her eyes widened, and she looked him up and down. Then up and down again. Then, up and down again, for the third time. He was hard where it mattered most, the tent in the apron giving it away.
'Here,' she said, thrusting the wine into his hands, hoping he wouldn't notice how flushed she was.
'You shouldn't have. I told you not to bring a thing,' he said.
He took it out of her hands and spun around. He was definitely naked. She got a spectacular view of his bum, and the artwork that was tattooed on his back.
She followed him into the kitchen, trying not to trip over his ginger cat. She'd spent all week mulling over Sunday; the fateful lunch, his cats, the pink house, the sex. He was completely unlike any man she'd ever come across, and the more she got to know him, the more this fact became abundantly clear.
'How was your week?' he asked politely.
'Fine. Yours?'
'Fine.' He leant across the kitchen bench and held her gaze. 'Have you finished with your period?'
'Pretty much.'
'Good. Take off your underwear.'
His instruction was said with such absolute control and confidence that she'd obey, that she felt compelled to do as he said.
'I'll go to the bathroom..' she trailed off, picking up her handbag.
He nodded approvingly. 'I'll get started with our entrees.'
She went to the laundry to use the toilet, then to the bathroom to wash her hands. She looked in the mirror and realised her face was flushed and her pupils dilated. Her heart was thudding, and her palms were damp with sweat.
When she returned, he had two gifts laid out for her; a glass of white, and a pipe stuffed with marijuana. Val placed the pipe in her mouth, his hands very strong and sure, and he retrieved a lighter from one of the drawers.
'Ladies first,' he said.
He had her keep drawing on it until she started to cough. Then he tapped the burnt material into his sink, packed it again, and proceeded to smoke with a level of speed and expertise she knew wasn't borne out of occasional use.
Goddamn he looked good naked. She tried not to stare too much as he finished smoking, and rinsed out the pipe. He was obviously planning on bedding her, but that fact had never been in contention. He wanted her, and she wanted him. What was more, she was flattered by his attention.
Her first partner, Chris, had first invited her to the movies when she was fourteen, and he sixteen. They'd been happy enough with each other, but she realised, with the painfulness of hindsight, that it hadn't been love. It had been familiarity and security. She often wondered if, had Chris not been killed, they'd still be together.
Dane had followed four years after Chris's death. He'd been a fucking prick. Their relationship had lasted eight months, before she got tired of the snide little digs about her looks, her rental, her car and her weird taste in television. Bizarrely, he'd been genuinely surprised when she'd broke things off.
Deciding that it was best to jump back into the dating world before she got cold feet, she hooked up with Tim. Tim had been pleasant, but not interested in anything serious, let alone dealing with her not inconsiderable emotional baggage and insecurity about her looks. She didn't hold it against him when he abruptly called time on their relationship.
Not one of the three men were even remotely like Val. None had shown the overt sexual interest he had. The mere idea that any of them would have cooked for her wearing nothing but an apron was actually quite funny, and she started to giggle.
'What are you laughing about?' Val inquired.
'I'm impressed with your self confidence.'
It was his turn to laugh. 'I'm good at putting on a front.'
She doubted that. Everything he did seemed so self assured. She sat and watched him cook, while sipping at her wine. He was more deft with a frying pan and knife than she was, and everything he did seemed remarkably skilled.
They ate at a table he'd set with a white tablecloth and cutlery that actually matched. He'd refilled her glass, and she was careful not to drink too much. Already her head was swimming and she felt a warm, pleasant buzz. If she didn't keep an eye on things, she'd end up falling asleep on him. Or, more likely, throwing herself at him and begging him to screw her. He'd removed his apron to eat, and she'd gotten a brief, yet incredibly tantalising, view of him completely nude.
Aimee ate her entree with the enjoyment only a woman who ordinarily ate a revolving menu of child-friendly dinners could experience. She had no idea what it was called, but it involved three perfectly cooked scallops all lined up on a smear of something that tasted of sweet corn. There was a sauce on the side and a bit of salad to brighten the plate up. It was divine.
She glanced up and realised he'd been studying her reaction. She smiled quickly, nervously. On one hand, she felt comfortable around him; she was now quite sure he wasn't a serial killer, and he didn't take himself too seriously, which she liked. On the other hand, he just seemed way out of her league; too confident, too capable, and too goddamn sexy. What the hell was he doing with her?
'You're an amazing cook,' she said, resting her knife and fork on the plate. There wasn't a crumb remaining. 'Thank-you.'
'You're welcome,' he replied, reaching over and taking her empty plate.
He placed it, and his, to the side of the table, but made no move to take them over to the sink. Aimee took a sip of her wine, before remembering that she was trying her best not to get drunk.
'So why me?' she asked curiously. 'What made you contact me?'
'Some of my friends picked you for me. They said you looked like a good match.'
Did that mean he wasn't attracted to her? Had he invited her over to see if he could learn to tolerate her, with all of her insecurities? He was obviously a very sexually motivated man. He had a great body. What the hell could he possibly see in her?
'Do you think they made a good choice?' she asked bravely.
'Very.'
His tone was one of utmost certainty. His blue eyes gazed into hers. She looked away, and tried not to flush. Why did he keep staring at her?
'Why did you respond?' he asked. 'You're a woman. You're thin. You have a job, and you don't seem to have particularly high expectations of a man. Why me? It's obviously an effort for you to organise a baby-sitter, so why did I rate highest this week?'
'You're easy to talk to.'
'That's disappointing,' he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. 'I was hoping you'd make mention of our roll in the hay last weekend.'
She could feel herself blushing a bright, dark, red. 'I'm sorry about that. I'm insecure. You're super hot, and I'm not sure why you would want to...'
