"You're crazy," he laughed as he ran his finger around the rim of his glass.
"I'm serious!" I said. We had already finished dinner, so we were in the 'idle chitchat' part of the date. The restaurant was emptying out, leaving only us, a waiter and two businessmen sitting across the room from us. The waiter was standing in the doorway of the kitchen looking bored, ready to leave, and irritated that we were still nursing our coffee and ice cream. "That's the main reason no porn magazine for women has ever taken off." I tapped one index finger with the other. "Playgirl was the closest. That's it. And I don't know a single woman who buys a copy of that. You mean have, what, Playboy, Penthouse, Hustler, FHM, Maxim... a thousand and one ways to see a woman naked or next to naked."
"And women don't want to see men naked?" he asked.
"I didn't say that. There are celebrities we'd like to jump, but Brad Pitt isn't exactly a centerfold, now is he? Men will sit through a crappy movie because Angelina shows her tits, but a woman won't go just to see George Clooney's ass. My theory is that porn for women - visual porn, videos and pictures, fail because women are more mental. That, and we have better ways to see men naked."
"Oh?"
"Sure. We ask." I leaned back in my chair and smirked.
"You... you ask."
I shrugged. "Yeah."
"Any man."
"Any man we want to see naked. We make even a half-hearted request, we'll see him naked within an hour."
He shook his head. "Nope. Not buying it. Women look at smut as much as men do... well. Maybe not as much. But they need it."
I laughed. How did we even get onto this subject? I leaned forward with my elbows on the table and said, "We prefer written smut. Have you ever seen the romance novel section at the bookstore? Hundreds of covers with men showing their nipples..."
"Aha! So..."
"We don't buy them for the covers, you buffoon. We buy them for the sexy writing inside. That's what gets us off. You have to engage the mind as well as the senses. More, even."
The waiter approached and pointedly asked, "Will there be anything else?"
I started to say no and send him away, but I thought of a supremely better idea. I leaned back in my chair, looked up at him and said, "Yes. I would like to see you naked."
He stared at me for a long moment, maybe thinking he had a misheard me, but then my date scoffed and said, "Oh, my God," and covered his eyes with his hand. The waiter looked at my date, looked at me and said, "E-excuse me?"
"I would like to see you naked," I repeated. I crossed my right leg over my left, crossed my arms and smiled up at him. He wasn't an unattractive guy; wide shoulders, dark hair, a little bit of a five o'clock shadow on his cheeks. He wore, like all the other waiters, a white tuxedo shirt with a black vest and black pants. He looked a little like a baseball player I couldn't name; fit and athletic and very earthy. He was still trying to come up with a response so I said, "You can say no, if you want."
"No," he said quickly. "Um... wh-when?"
"Now is good," I said.
"Now?"
The businessmen across the room were looking in our direction now. The waiter looked over his shoulder, but the others on the wait staff had abandoned him to his fate. He swallowed hard and said, "Um..."
"Now or never," I said. My heart was beating fast. This had all started out as a joke, but the more he hesitated, the more I really, desperately wanted him to say yes.
He tentatively reached up to the collar of his shirt and undid it. His cheeks were red, and his fingers trembled as they worked the tiny white buttons. He got the shirt halfway undone when he realized his vest was in the way. I reached out and said, "Here, let me." I undid the three large buttons on the vest and let the two halves drop open. "There you go."
When I sat back in my chair, I looked across the table at my date. He was blushing as well, his eyes locked on me. I smiled at him, lifted my shoulder in a shrug. I should have put money on it.