S.h.e (seduce Hypnotise Enslave)

13. The Date

I'd chosen a pretty decent place, if I said so myself. It was upscale, but cozy, a blend of wooden, cushioned chairs and long, padded couches, a warm white electric candle decorating every table. A dining experience for the whole family, with good food and only slightly exorbitant prices.

The only hitch in my plan was the seemingly insurmountable challenge of starting a conversation.

"Well."

My date--Stella was my

date!

--blinked slowly at me and replied in kind, "

Well.

"

She was dazzling tonight, resplendent in a floral-patterned blouse in reds and pinks to match her long, frizzy hair; a flowing silk skirt, tall leather boots, and earrings that seemed to pick up the soft light of the restaurant and make her glow.

By comparison, I felt like a penguin, all suit and tie and no flair.

"...Here we are then," I completed, lamely.

She couldn't hide the smirk that spread over her features.

"Sorry," I winced, "I just never thought I'd actually be... here, with you. Having dinner. It all kind of feels like a dream."

"A dream?" That infuriating, captivating smile was still there. "Best enjoy it while it lasts, then."

"True!" I raised my glass, clinking it softly against hers. "I guess it's redundant to ask you what you do for work?"

She snorted, "Is this how I find out that you don't pay any attention to the other departments?"

"I pay plenty of attention!" I objected playfully, "I know that Marie is finally going on long service leave, and HR is seriously considering hiring two covers for her."

A thought struck me, "I hope HR is okay with us being, you know..."

"...on a date?" she completed, grinning. "I've talked to them about it, and they're fine as long as we keep it professional in the building."

"Good! I'd hate for this evening to get tangled up in Sandra's red tape."

Stella pulled out an imaginary clipboard, and began taking notes on it. "How would you say your performance over this date has reflected your commitment to the company's values?"

I groaned, and tried not to think about it anymore.

Letting my anxieties go

in a haze of wine and pleasant conversation.

Frankly, it didn't matter what HR thought. Or if they made me fill out a questionnaire at the end of this date and any others in the future. The fact remained that when Stella smiled at me across the table, sparkling with warmth and humour, I was in trouble.

Big, big trouble.

**********

(Previously)

"So, Will," Dr. Stephanie Thorpe leaned forward, "would you like to talk about what, in your opinion, brought you here today?"

I'd discovered Dr. Stephanie, as she liked to be called, through a pin on the company noticeboard. I desperately needed someone to talk to, and though I was hesitant to trust random business cards on noticeboards, the reviews suggested she might be the real deal.

And she did bulk billing. Couldn't say fairer than that.

I shifted a little on the couch, "I do, but I don't at the same time. It's... uncomfortable."

"It's alright," she soothed. "Take your time. There is no judgment here."

I shook my head, "I'm being stupid, I know. It's not even that big a deal."

"Often it doesn't matter how trivial something is," Dr. Stephanie said airily, "the conscious mind struggles with it anyway."

"How do I tell my conscious mind to shut up?" I retorted bitterly.

Dr. Stephanie regarded me, a small smile gracing her lips. She stood up and retrieved a metronome from one of her shelves before setting it to one side in the space between us.

"Try closing your eyes and focusing on this while you talk," she instructed. "It may be difficult at first, you may feel a little distracted, but the words will ultimately come easier when you don't think about them. Does that make sense?"

I nodded, leaning back and closing my eyes. Focus on the metronome, don't focus on what I'm saying. Easy peasy.

She set it in motion, and a surprisingly gentle ticking noise filled the room.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

"Now just relax," she murmured, "and when you feel comfortable enough, you can tell me what's bothering you."

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

"It's... about my coworker," I replied hazily.

Tick. Tock.

"I... her name is Stella, and she..."

Tick. Tock.

The noise was really distracting.

"It's alright," Dr. Stephanie coaxed, "you're doing well, just take your time."

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

"She's not what I imagined my ideal partner to be like," I pressed on, letting the

tick, tock

drown out the noise from my brain that told me I should find talking about this shameful. "Well, I mean, there are some things I like about her, but..."

"There are other things you don't?" Dr. Stephanie completed.

Tick. Tock.

"She's... she's too fat," I sighed, and it was like letting a huge weight lift from my shoulders. It was blunt, rude, and I would have preferred to say it any other way, but who was I kidding? It was what I thought, and how I thought it.

"I have no problem with her as a person," I clarified, "but as a sexual or romantic partner, I just never imagined someone like that doing it for me."

"You're saying that in the past tense," she noted, and I heard the rapid scratching of pen on paper. "Did something happen to change your mind?"

Tick. Tock.

"There was... a Christmas party," I said hazily, reaching back through the fog of my memory. "The office organises one every year. The venue that hosted us had mistletoe over the bar, and..."

"Ahh, mistletoe," Dr. Stephanie smiled, filling the space as I faltered, unsure how to say the next bit. "Can I assume the venue set it up deliberately to encourage... connection between patrons?"

"You could say that, yeah..." I drifted off again.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

"And? Did something happen?"

"I didn't even realise I was standing under it," I blurted, "but Stella, well she was laughing, I was having a good time, I figured we could just play it off as harmless fun. So I let her."

"Understandable," Dr. Stephanie said. "And how did that go?"

"Well, it was..."

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

"...one of the best kisses I'd ever had," I confessed, fighting the urge to curl up in embarrassment. "I think I lost track of time, and it ended up going on for a lot longer than I thought it would."

"So if I understand correctly, you stood there and let her kiss you, and it felt so enjoyable that you didn't want to stop?"

Tick. Tock.

"Yeah."

"Did it feel something like this?"

I knew what was about to happen a split second before it did... because it had happened before. Dr. Stephanie's soft, sexy lips pressed to mine, and I was transported back to that surprising yet welcome fog of pure bliss. Any thoughts I had about unprofessional conduct were out there somewhere, beyond my reach.

Dr. Stephanie pulled back, and murmured something I didn't quite catch, before kissing me again. But somehow I knew she was right, I was already so relaxed from the

tick, tock

of the metronome. Just like I was with Stella.

So open, and obedient,

I just wanted to...

"Sleep," Dr. Stephanie commanded gently. Before I could even think to protest, she swept me up in another kiss, her tongue playing lightly and soothingly against my own.

I relaxed, and allowed her to guide me as everything around me grew fuzzy, replaced by a pleasant, sexy dream...

Oh, you sweet thing, you made it far too easy. Now tell me exactly what happened after Stella kissed you.

**********

(Now)

"How would you feel," Stella smiled slyly over the rim of her wine glass, "if I told you I'd planned this entire night out?"

I let my amusement show in the narrowing of my eyes. "How far thought out are we talking? 7:00, arrive at the restaurant? 7:05, a waiter gives us our menus? 7:09, we get our drinks? 7:12, a waitress gives us a basket of bread?"

I'd seen her approaching out of the corner of my eye. Just as I finished speaking, the waitress--Cloe, going by her name badge--arrived at our table and carefully laid a basket in front of us that still had a glorious fresh-from-the-oven smell wafting from it.

I gasped in mock horror, "Dear God, you've thought of everything!"

This made Stella giggle, which in turn made my stomach flutter with warmth. I could listen to that sound all evening.

"You're funny, Will," she teased. "Why do you never show that side of yourself at work?"

"Ah, well, you know," I shrugged, "work is work. I go into business mode."

She smirked, one eyebrow raised questioningly. I got the distinct impression that she was calling bullshit, and somehow that felt... comfortable. Like she was seeing me in a way that I hadn't been seen for a long time, but really wanted to be.

"I guess I also don't feel comfortable making jokes around them," I said carefully. "Some people can be a little much."

"You get talked over a lot, don't you?" Her perceptiveness was sharp, but her voice was gentle and reassuring. Like she knew how it felt.

"Yeah," I admitted. "It's only some people, but yeah."

Stella nodded, and I could see behind her eyes that she knew exactly the people I was thinking of.

"Well," she said, "I think work would be a much nicer place with you making jokes in it."

It was the kindest thing anyone had said about me on a personal level in almost six years. I allowed myself to bask in it, to soak up this feeling I'd been missing of someone just wanting me to be around.

And more than that, I knew exactly what I wanted to say next, not because it was polite, but because I realised how much Stella needed someone to see her as well.

"What do you think you'd be like, if you could be more yourself at work?"

Stella blinked, and her gaze lingered on the basket of bread for a long moment as she took a piece.

"...Baking," she said eventually. "I think, every once in a while, I'd like to bake something, cookies or scones or whatever, and bring it into the office for everyone to share."

Why don't you?

The question was on the tip of my tongue, but I held it back. I could guess why Stella wouldn't want to be the coworker everyone associated with food.

"I would love to try your baking, sometime," was what came out instead.

Stella's eyes shone at that moment, with something approaching tears. But not sad tears.

"Well, now I definitely want to," she replied, something like hope in her voice.

"Let's at least give this restaurant a chance first, though," I said, as a waiter approached our table.

We laughed, and there was a brief lull in the conversation as we ordered our food.

"To answer your earlier question," I said, after the menus were gone, "I think if you told me that this entire night was going according to your plan, I'd be shocked that I occupied so much of your thoughts."

Her eyes widened, surprised at my response, "What do you mean?"

I cupped my hands over my face, and sighed into them.

"My last serious relationship was a long time ago," I explained, "and I guess I felt just as overshadowed then as I do at work. I kind of made my entire life about her."

Stella nodded sympathetically.

"So, if you actually did have some kind of surprise in store for me," I continued, "I would be flattered to think I meant that much to you."

Stella's eyes travelled over me, her gaze soft and vulnerable.

"It means a lot to me that you're here," she murmured. "It's been a while since my last relationship, too."

I extended my hand across the table. She entwined her fingers with mine, and I squeezed gently, reassuringly. She didn't seem to want to let go, and neither did I, so I drew out the moment by leaning forward to kiss her hand like an old-fashioned gentleman.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, "but I'm here now, and for what it's worth I'm really enjoying myself."

Her eyes looked a little watery as I said it, but her smile was like the sun parting the clouds on her face.

"So am I," she husked, and pulled our hands back across the table so that she could return the favour, pressing her full, sensuous lips softly against my knuckles.

Something stirred in my memory.

**********

(Previously)

"Before we start today, Will," Dr. Stephanie said, "I must apologise for a security breach that has affected your confidentiality. A certain individual decided to plant a hidden camera in my office and record every session I conducted for a whole week, unfortunately including yours."

"Huh, shit," I rubbed my chin anxiously. "Were they targeting someone in particular?"

"I have reason to believe I was the target," she replied somberly, "but please be assured I have taken every possible measure to ensure the contents of your session do not escape any further."

I huffed in exasperation. What an asshole. This was supposed to be a place I could open up freely.

"No worries, doctor. Thank you for telling me."

"I appreciate your understanding," she smiled. "Now, if you are ready, how are things with you?"

"Not a whole lot better, if I'm honest," I admitted weakly.

"Hrmmm", her mouth twisted. "If I recall correctly, last time you said you were having strange dreams about your coworker, Stella, and you believed that it had something to do with her kissing you under the mistletoe?"

"Yeah," I continued, "they're very intense, and because it's so weird for me to find her attractive, it feels like a nightmare every time." I didn't remember exactly when the subject of my dreams had come up last session, but

I definitely remembered talking about them.

"And, just to clarify, we are talking about attraction in a physical sense, rather than in terms of personality?"

"Well, when you put it like that, it sounds shallow-"

"There's nothing wrong with needing to find a potential partner physically attractive," Dr. Stephanie soothed, "but I would like to explore the aspect where this seems weird or uncomfortable to you. Could you tell me more about that?"

"Well, it's just-" I spluttered, unsure how I could say it again without just repeating myself, "It's not

me

to be attracted to a larger body shape. It's never happened before."

"I see," she mused. "And because it's never happened before, that means that it can't happen, ever?"

"Well, I guess not, but I just wonder, why now? Why her? I don't have these sorts of dreams about anyone else, and I've rarely ever had them before now. And yet."

"If I understand correctly, you have continued to experience these dreams in which you are sexually attracted to Stella, since our last session?"

"Every night," I said, trying not to sound miserable...

and

trying not to sound desperately aroused. "Worse than before, even."

Her eyebrow raised, "Worse?"

"More intense," I corrected myself.

"How do you actually feel about your dreams in the moment?"

"Ashamed," I admitted, "a sort of feeling of 'oh god, it happened again'."

"What about while you're actually having them?"

"I-" my words caught in my throat. I knew what the answer was, I just couldn't say it. Not out loud.

"It's okay if you were turned on by them," she said matter-of-factly. "You can trust me."

I relaxed. Of course,

it was perfectly normal to talk to my therapist about this.

"Yeah, turned on as hell," I mumbled quietly. "Maybe more than I've ever been in my entire life."

"Interesting," she said, briefly taking down some notes on her clipboard. "Why was it different after you woke up? Why the shame?"

I didn't have an answer for her. I simply shrugged my shoulders.

"Are you enjoying them?"

I shook my head.

"If they disappeared tomorrow, would you miss them?"

I paused, considered the question, and slowly nodded my head.

"It feels like... a torment, at times," I confessed. "Like I'm being shown something that can never happen."

"Because you're ashamed of your attraction to her?"

"Yes."

"Well, that's something we can work on, if you sleep for my lips."

Before I could ask what that meant, she leaned forward and kissed me, like it was the most natural thing in the world. I wanted to understand what was happening, but my eyes were suddenly so heavy, my body relaxing against the couch like I was cooling down after long, tiring day.

Sleep for her lips. Sleep... Sleep...

**********

(Now)

"You're staring at my lips."

I saw them curve upwards into a sly grin, before I snapped out of it a little guiltily.

"Sorry," I blurted, "I was just thinking it's a bit funny how this all started. Did you ever think, when you approached me under the mistletoe...?"

Stella actually blushed, and looked away, "Maybe a little bit."

My brain, completely unable to process compliments, could only supply "...Huh."

Stella giggled, "You're adorable, Will. You're handsome, and funny, and sweet, and I hadn't kissed anyone for a while. How could I resist?"

"Stop, Stella" I groaned theatrically, "I'm drowning in praise."

Stella smiled, but she looked thoughtful. "I guess I don't know if I was

expecting

you to ask me out."

"I'm sorry it took me a while," I replied, raising my palms in contrition, "but truth be told, I've been unable to forget about it since it happened."

A mischievous smirk spread across Stella's face.

"

Really?

" she teased, but I thought I detected genuine surprise underneath it somewhere.

"Yeah," I shook my head, flustered. "I know it was just a kiss, and a spur of the moment thing, but... just couldn't get it out of my head. Is that weird? I'm sorry if it's weird."

"It's not weird at all," Stella murmured softly, and just for a moment, her expression was unreadable.

She gestured to the empty space next to me, "Can I come round there?"

"Sure!"

Stella had graciously allowed me to sit on one of the long couches while she took the chair on the opposite side--as long as I was enough of a gentleman to pull it out for her first, of course. Now, she took a seat on the couch anyway, and was not shy about leaning in close to me. I might have felt embarrassed that we were embracing so publicly, but all I could think about was how

soft, and warm, and cuddly

she was. God, I really had it bad for this woman.

"I guess there's no point telling you that I don't kiss on the first date?" Stella grinned.

"I... I guess not," I husked in reply, my throat suddenly dry as I realised where she might be going with this. "We've already kissed, after all."

"So you wouldn't judge me if I said, maybe, kissing didn't have to wait until the end of the date?"

I swallowed, trying frantically to maintain my ability to speak.

Oh god, don't screw this up, don't screw this up.

"I think that should be entirely cool and reasonable," I said, trying not to cringe at the words as they came out of my mouth in what felt like the wrong order, with the wrong inflection, and mispronounced.

"Good," she sighed. "Because I'm tired of waiting to receive the slightest affection."

"That's fair," I mumbled.

Stella's mood dropped then, and I wondered what her thought process was. How she must be feeling. Maybe if it were me--and in the past, it

had

often been me hanging out for affection I never received--I would be a little bit trapped in my own head right now.

"But!" I said, holding up one finger sternly, "holding hands will have to wait until after marriage."

Somehow, my lame attempt at humour worked. Stella snorted with laughter, burying her face in my shoulder.

"We already held hands just a few minutes ago!" she pointed out.

"Oh, shit, we did!" I realised. "Argh, there's no going back, I'm committed now!"

We laughed, and found ourselves snuggling closer together. It felt surprisingly natural to slip one of my arms around her shoulders, allowing her head to rest against mine. At the same time, one of her hands found my waist, not low enough to be indecent in public, but certainly closer than I had been to someone in a long time.