Waking Moments

I. The connection

We walked out of the restaurant and into the cool October evening, he following closely behind me. When I heard his footsteps I slowed my pace a little, preferring to let him catch up so that we could walk together. As we approached the car near the back of the dimly lit parking lot, his hand gently touched the small of my back. I eased to a stop and leaned slightly toward him, brushing my shoulder against his chest. For a moment, neither of us moved. Then, his fingers stirred from my lower back to just beneath my lowest rib. I took a quiet, deep breath.

He wrapped his arm gently around my side as he led me to the car and opened the door. I slid into the seat quietly and buckled myself in. For the few seconds it took for him to walk to the driver's side, I closed my eyes and saw myself from above, like a bird's-eye shot in a movie. The fading voice of reason in my head issued its refrain, 'be careful, be smart.' But I was overwhelmed by the newfound warmth issuing from deep within me. I was dazzled that he was both an older man and a stout one as well. The generous cut of his suit coat couldn't hide the breadth of his shoulders.

Once he settled into the driver's seat, he looked over. I laid my head on the headrest, turned it to the side and faced him. He reached over with his hand, and I let his knuckles glide over my cheeks and then over my lips. I closed my eyes and tilted my head back slightly, exposing my neck. I felt his fingers skate over my throat and follow the neckline of my dress. I opened my lips slightly and held them there while his fingers gently danced about my neck. He made me wait, but not for long as I could hear him lean over. Then his lips touched mine.

I held his kiss until he opened his lips further. I opened my lips in response to his as he pressed in closer. I felt his other hand caress my shoulder and then gently move up my neck. I squirmed in an attempt to lean my body in toward him, but this was neither a graceful nor easy. I realized that I was hemmed in by the seat belt. He must have noticed as well, as the next thing I heard was the click of the belt release and the liberation that came with the straps retracting.

At this point, he backed away to his own seat. I ventured to open my eyes. I knew my cheeks were flushed. If there had been enough light to notice, I imagined he would have seen them beet red. I looked at his face as though I was in a dream or trance. He looked at me for a moment before reaching over with his right hand, resting it on my leg. It was comforting and yet alarming. He looked into my eyes as he reached down below the hem of my black cocktail dress, just at the knee. His fingers touched me softly, slowly working up to the top of my thigh, easing up my dress in the process. His eyes held contact with mine. I held his eyes, locked in a roulette game of quiet desire. I held still, knowing that any movement of my leg would halt his advances. His fingers eased up my thighs to the bottom of my panties. There, he held his hand and rested his fingers firmly where my legs met. I held his glance for a moment longer before closing my eyes, acquiescing to him willingly. I opened my legs and took in a long, deliberate breath before exhaling slowly. His fingers reached further up, knowing that soon he would reach the waistband.

As he pulled down my panties, I lifted myself up slightly from the seat. He stopped just above the knee as I adjusted myself back down. He massaged me with his fingers on the outside of my lips. For some reason I felt that I had to do something, so I extended both of my arms to either side of the seat, grasping both of the edges as if I was bracing for a fast ride. He swirled his fingers teasingly around the outer lips, and again I was compelled to let out a long breath. I tilted my head way back as his first finger entered.

As he swirled inside of me, I tensed up my shoulders, arms and lower legs. I held tight for a moment before releasing and sinking deep into the seat. I slowly relaxed and let a warm numbness engulf me. I no longer felt the goosebumps on my bare arms, but relished his confident, mature hand fixed upon my vulnerability. It was a snapshot my mind created that I found so stimulating. In a moment I drifted to a place I had visited once before, letting my body react willfully to his touch. I gave myself unconditionally over, free from reason and reasonableness. It was pleasant and ethereal, less real and yet more perceivable at the same time. When he found and touched the spot, my nerves sent an immediate impulse as I flinched in response. And in the wonderful confusion he had deftly gone from one finger to two. The movement inside of me was exquisitely pleasing. I basked in the swirl and touch, a gratifying dance between his moving fingers and my willing body that I didn't want to end.

From somewhere within my viscera, a gentle rumbling began and unhurriedly moved outward to my limbs. I savored the moment. Then, another tremble followed a little more perceptible than the first. At the second time my breathing picked up pace, and as if on cue the dance of his fingers moved deeper inside. I writhed a moment and then settled back again. Barely had a few seconds elapsed before my body shook, and this time it was sustained. I felt as though the tips of each hair on my body were on fire, and the shaking would somehow put it out. But I was no longer in control, nor could I stop the vibrations; I didn't want to. I wanted to follow this journey of gratification. I'm pretty sure that I was whimpering with each breath I exhaled.

I reached the apex of sensitivity and wasn't sure if I could feel his fingers anymore. Had he removed them? It didn't matter. My body continued to shake uncontrollably and I opened my mouth wider, gasping for air. The intensity extended to the tips of my fingers and toes, as if a thousand prickly lights shot forth in tiny microscopic flashes. I held this feeling until a sudden chill swept over me. My body made one last reach to suspend itself at the highest point before gravity pulled me down. Then I relaxed, the quivers subsiding while I sank back into the chair. The breathing slowed.

I opened my eyes and looked at him, not sure if I wanted to see his reaction. He smiled, though I'm not sure what it meant, if anything at all. Immediately feeling exposed for the first time, I reached down and pulled up my panties and adjusted the dress as well. We sat there for a while, just looking at each other. The moonlight our only light revealed the dimness of his shadowed face, his dark eyes and eyebrows most prominent. I reached over with my right hand to the back of his neck and pulled my way up to him, whereupon I tilted my head before searching for his lips with mine. I kissed him for a long time, tasting him and devouring him. He was obliging, returning the favor with swirls of his tongue in my welcoming mouth.

When it seemed time to break for air, I separated from him slowly, but kept my eyes on his. Again he smiled, then looked forward, as though suddenly aware of where he was.

"We should be going," he said just barely above a whisper. I nodded in agreement, though in truth I was still mystified by what he meant. I was mystified by him.

He started the car and I re-buckled my belt. I wanted to ask him many questions, many of which began with "why." I wasn't confused, but more curious than anything else. I realized that asking questions would ruin everything, that knowing too much spoiled the felicity. "The devil is in the details," I remembered someone once telling me. All that really mattered is that he made me feel wonderful, and in the car a few moments earlier he had brought me to ecstasy. I looked over at my hand by the window and saw that it was still shaking, though ever so slightly -- a remnant feeling. Just hours earlier I had met him under the most innocuous of circumstances.

II. The encounter

Having been chased out of my study sanctuary by renovations, I took refuge in a Starbucks just a few blocks away from campus. The surroundings were somewhat cold and angular, in stark contrast to the warm, oak-paneled corner of the library's O'Connor Collection. I missed the familiarity of my comfortable haunt, but it seemed to be the thing to do -- take the laptop and books, and then squat conspicuously at a Starbucks table for the requisite hour or two.

Before I settled into reading my book, I spied two tables away a gentleman absorbed in his laptop. Neatly dressed in a smart gray sport coat, tie and white dress shirt, he stood out from the others. I figured he wasn't a regular, but someone stopping in to gather messages. His dark and wavy hair was neat but seemed somewhat wonderfully unkempt for a man of his age -- a man probably a few years younger than my dad. Even with a limited view of his profile, I could see a depth in his eyes and an intensity in his look. Both his eyes and brows were dark and confident. I envied his focus on his work and resolved that he was a businessman, probably successful -- in what field, I wasn't sure.

Try as I might, I couldn't get past the second sentence of the paragraph without glimpsing back up above the top of the page and two tables away. The warmth of his glance caught my eyes -- oh, this warmth from deep within me.

"It's been a long time since I've read Tolstoy," he said, his voice as commanding yet as soft as his confidence. I looked at the cover as if I'd forgotten the title of the book and then set it down. Kind of silly of me to try and recover, but I did it anyway.

"It may take me a while to finish," I answered. He held up his hand and apologized.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt."

"No, no. You didn't interrupt anything. In fact, I just realized I've been reading the same sentence like four times," I responded, surprised at my own candor. "Have you read Anna Karenina?"

"Yes, in college. I had a crazy teacher who was nuts about Tolstoy," he said with a grin.

"Well, this is my first encounter. I haven't decided whether or not I really like him," I said matter-of-factly.

"First? So you're an English major?" he asked. He spoke with a refined command of the language.

"Yes," I responded, and then repositioned myself so that I faced him, though he was still two tables away. "Did you major in English?"

"No, political science, but sometimes I wish that I had," he looked up as if in a pleasant reminiscence. "It's not the most practical major, but in the long run it's still personally fulfilling."

"Do you read a lot?" I asked.

"Not as much as I'd like," he looked back at me. "But it's nice to see people still read the classics," he paused for a moment. "Oh, by the way, I'm Mark."

"I'm Ellen," I automatically responded, raising my hand to my neck. "I'm a junior and the novel is part of a Russian Lit. class." I wanted to seem intelligent to this stranger, sensing his ease and natural smoothness in the way he spoke.

"Nice to meet you, Ellen," he looked back at his laptop. "I'm catching up on some emails and waiting for a message," he said slowly, as though his words could somehow conjure up the message on his monitor.

"What do you do?" I asked.

"I'm a lawyer," he answered almost apologetically, then smiled.

The warm feeling I had before had suddenly returned, nearly overwhelming me. I felt flush, not sure if it was his smile, his voice, or some combination of both. I was afraid he'd somehow noticed, so I feigned nonchalance.

"That's good," I answered, smiling back. Then I became self-conscious, thinking to myself "that's good?" what a dumb thing to say. For no particular reason, I felt I needed to recover. "I like your jacket. It looks very smart and sophisticated with that tie and shirt."

"Thank you," he answered. "It's all part of the lawyer uniform."

"Are you involved in a trial?" I asked naively.

"No, I rarely see the courtroom. I'm a plaintiff's attorney in town visiting a client. I'm doing some discovery work."

"Sounds exciting," I offered. He looked back at the monitor, catching sight of a new message.

"And it looks like I'll be staying another day," he said to me while reading the content of the new message. He leaned over and typed what appeared to be a response. Then, he looked over to me, "I'll need to make some overnight arrangements."

"Just like that, huh?" I commented more than asked.

"Well, it's the nature of what I do. That's why I always travel with a change or two of clothes," he explained. "It's sometimes tough with a family, but my wife understands." When he mentioned 'wife,' a shudder briefly went through my chest. The reality of a wife sent a cool chill through my newfound warmth, and I chided myself for feeling this way.

I fidgeted for a moment before slowly gathering up my novel and notebook. I looked over at him in silence as he continued his typing. I was a bit sad that the conversation seemed to end, and felt compelled to say something. But he was immersed in his laptop, and the only thing that seemed appropriate was to say 'good-bye.' As I stood up with my things in tow, he looked at me for a moment before speaking.

"I know this is bit forward and feel free to say 'no,'" he hesitated. "But I've been enjoying our conversation, and I'd like to keep it going..... would you mind if I treated you to dinner tonight?" There was a momentary silence. My eyes widened for a moment and the rush of warmth returned. I didn't really think, but just nodded my head.

"Yes," I said meekly. "I think that would be nice." He smiled and stood up.

"I have some arrangements I need to make and need to check into a hotel," he said somewhat methodically before addressing me directly. "Do you like Northern Italian? I know of a nice place."

"I don't really know the difference between Northern or Southern, so I'll have to take your word for it," I answered, my pulse racing.

"I don't want to presume anything, so should I pick you up or would you like to meet there? It's no trouble for me either way," he added. I couldn't think clearly, still basking in the warmth, but summoned a response.

"How about if we meet here? It's not far from my apartment," I offered.

"Okay," he said looking at his watch as he closed his laptop. "I'll meet you here at seven thirty. How does that sound?"

"Great. I look forward to it."

"Me too."

I led the way out of the Starbucks and turned left while he turned right to his car. I turned and waved to him as he walked to the parking lot, admiring his long, deliberate strides. I headed homeward, walking briskly and clutching my novel close to my chest as though it was a child. What could he have been thinking about me? What was I thinking about me? I wasn't sure.

I arrived at my apartment a short while later. My roommate Katie was away, as she usually was this time of day. I hoped that by some chance Katie would change her routine and be home. I was filled with a burst of energy and wanted to share with her my meeting with this older guy. Instead, I would have to pass the remainder of the afternoon playing devil's advocate myself.

"Hmmm, what would Katie think?" I said out loud, though I knew the answer before I even formed the question. Katie, so solid and smart in almost all matters, would certainly tell me that I was out of my mind for meeting a strange guy and agreeing to have dinner with him. Then again, I also knew that she would ask many questions, no doubt intrigued about this mystery man as well.

I played this game for a long time as if it were my own personal movie, replaying in my mind the conversation and scene in the Starbucks, analyzing the nuances of words and phrases, freezing the looks he gave me.

I was no closer to figuring out why I accepted his invitation. Nonetheless, it did help me pass the time. And with the dinner hour approaching, I decided to get myself ready. I looked at my reflection the bathroom mirror and thought how much of a kid I must have appeared to him. My hair was pulled back in a ponytail. I wore olive cargo-capri pants, a staple for study but not for fashion. I was less critical of the blouse, an understated white v-neck short-sleeve shirt that was something of my trademark look. I had three of these blouses, one each in pink, light blue and canary.

But this wouldn't do. No, I needed to look older, more mature. I took a long shower, thinking that maybe the cleansing effect of the water would provide more clarity to my thoughts, but warmth and nervous excitement remained. Out of the closet I pulled out a black cotton dress. Tasteful, somewhat sophisticated, comfortable and most important of all, it fit my form nicely. I slipped it on and looked at myself full-length, trying to achieve a look appropriate to the situation, though I wasn't at all sure what this was. Just dinner with a nice guy, nothing more, I thought. Still, I studied the mirror and turned my body and head sideways, noticing my figure for the first time in a long time. I've always been excessively critical of my body shape.

And yet, standing at average height for a twenty year-old, I felt pleased that I had retained most of the athletic physique I achieved through years of soccer and swimming. I had resisted the extra college weight that had found its way on so many of my friends, moving them up two and sometimes four sizes from their first days as freshmen. My only real change from the last few years was that my curves achieved a more womanly outline. I allowed myself to admire the form in the mirror, much like an art critic allows himself the guilty pleasure of an out-of-vogue but sublime Cassatt. I liked this dress, but most of all I liked me in it. I accentuated the look with a pair of smart black flats.

I pulled my hair back and held it in place with a wide white head band. I made sure to be subtle with the make-up, since I didn't want to give the impression of spending much time getting ready. I lightly applied the mascara, eye-shadow and lipstick, only giving the slightest trace that they were there. I knew I didn't need it, but I liked the effort. I knew I had a naturally agreeable face, a nice figure and a light tan which gave off a soft glow on days like these.

As I collected my purse, I left a note for Katie telling her that I was having dinner out. I knew this would raise more than a few questions on her return, since I was usually very specific on my whereabouts. I wasn't sure whether to call it a date or anything close to what it really was, dinner out with a guy I just met. Had it been a couple of weeks earlier, I would have been immersed in project work and not allowed myself to be distracted by the inexplicable warmth of a handsome older man. Had it been a month earlier, I would have been too caught up in my circle of friends.

He found me at a the very moment I stepped away from the safety of my convictions, of the conventional wisdom from which practical decisions are made. Excitement and mystery were all well and good, but uncalculated risks led to an uncertain destiny, and these were uncharted waters in my experience.

III. The seduction

The short walk to the Starbucks put me there in just a few minutes. I decided to wait at the door instead of going inside. In all likelihood, the baristas or whatever you call them wouldn't have cared if I waited inside, but I felt weird about going back. I looked to the road and saw his car slowly approaching the entrance as the passenger's side window eased down. I walked up to the edge of the curb and opened the door myself.

"You haven't been waiting long, have you?" he asked.

"No, your timing's perfect. I just got here," I answered and situated myself in the passenger's seat, buckling myself in. His eyes gazed at my dress and face.

"You look very nice, Ellen," he said sincerely.

"Thank you," I responded. "I wasn't exactly sure if this was a dress-up kind of place. I hope this is okay."