Her face glowed as she sat at the small, brass-topped café table. She had always wanted them to meet somewhere intimate.
It had been years since he had even heard her voice, much less seen her precious face. He had not known what to expect. On the drive over flashes of older conversations revolved around explosions of photos of this woman sent across digital lines. Jeanette. Just saying her name aloud sent a rush of heat up his back. How many times had he heard her darkly sweet voice on the other end of a phone? Long, late night calls with the lights out. Lying in beds separated by snowy divides and long borders. Her voice was a low rush of emotion across the receiver, a haunting invitation into the down low worlds they walked together. And how many of those times had her lustful approach and their deeply passionate exchanges ended in more than a hot face, but a sweated neck, drips of sweet and furious fuck sweat rolling down his face?
Only she knew of his purest and wickedest secrets. He had given her whispers of imaginations brighter than fantasy and a tour through all the devious sexual alleys he has traveled. They often wondered if 'perversion' defined them. She had made him feel so natural, free. And all of this for years, a tight downward spiral into their physicality that reached up to the soul with a firm grip.
She let him call her Jeannette, only him though. She sent him panties in the mail in exchange for perfume. Photos of her shaven pussy came through e-mails. This was Jeannette, the princess whore of every man's inner lust, the woman who wears heels in bed without you asking but who asks for everything back from you. "Baby, will you lick mommy under the table? Yes you can feel what's missing now can't you," she had purred before. "Turn over boy," she teased, wanting to taste across her tongue something no other girl would dare. She wanted him bareback, she wanted inside him as deep as he could get inside of her. She wanted it in the bathroom, the girl who would let your friends watch if she did not bring her girlfriend along that night. Jeannette was black leather chokers and latex, white silk scarves and g-strings, funky purple lipstick with thigh-high stockings, screams and begging, violence and passion, the schoolgirl naughtiness and diva kink, and still all pink cotton candy throughout.
Her face was glowing brightly when he found her in the corner of the café, her pale pink painted nails holding her cup.
"Hello," she said shyly. Her eyes were big and sensitive, shining in soft pink glitter.
"You look...," he began.
"Yes?"
"You look...; well I don't even have the words"
"That's a first isn't it? Sit down Reid, please."
"Is this your regular café?"
"Yes, the waiters all know me here. They whisper a lot when they see Monica with me."
Reid slowly moved his hand across the table. He could not wait longer to touch her, to feel her in the flesh.
"What will you drink?"
He just stared at her. In shyness, she turned her head across to the menu above the bar.
"Honey, do you want anything?"
"Yes."
"All of the coffees are wonderful," she said.
"So many things were rolling in my head on the way here. It was like a flood being released."
She smiled. Her heeled foot brushed across his boot.
"Do you want a beer or whiskey?"
"Will you drink with me then?"
"Oh, no honey I can't."
"Have one with me, wine even."
"I want to watch you drink one. Waiter," she called out in French.
He loved hearing her mother language. Often he had made her use it on the phone though he didn't understand a word. It was another part of her being Jeanette.
He drank down the first glass of bourbon while she asked about the flight and then the drive. She wanted to know all about his emotions for Quebec and her. And the city they would share for a time. She told him about Michael, her lover and his trip to Paris that had given her this time with him. She talked too of Monica, her best friend and a previous third in some of their fantasies.
"Don't worry nobody hear knows Michael. This is
my
café," Jeannette whispered.
"I'm not even thinking of it. You are mine now."
"And I am," she smiled. "And so are you, you are mine. We are ours," she giggled sweetly.
"Have one drink with me," he insisted.
