She looked at him across the candlelit table, the voices of the other diners, the rattle of dishes and clinks of silverware drowned out by the sudden rush of blood in her ears. She looked at his face to see if she could detect any playfulness, if he was kidding, or even if she had heard him correctly.
She had to do something, some kind of response was required; she had drawn out the moment too long.
"What?" She asked quietly, over the dwindling mouthful of salad, hoping she hadn't heard him correctly, at least giving her some time to consider his words.
Their fourth date in as many weeks and she had been wondering where this was heading. He was somewhat older than her, a fact that troubled her when she wasn't with him - what would her friends think? How could she introduce him to her family? As if that was even a prospect. She toyed with the notions during her daydream moments at work, imagining the first encounters, the raised eyebrows, the mumblings in the corner when the two of them were out of earshot.
The first date, not counting when they first met at Loren's party...she had met a lot of folks that night so that didn't count, was so sweet and low-key. A soccer match at a rival school, "park food" for dinner and a great dessert at Marcy's Café. He was a gentleman. She felt so at ease, so able to talk with him, even as she realized he must be bored to tears with her school-girl worries and rants. If he ever felt boredom or dismissive, she never sensed it.
The second date couldn't have been more different from what she had dreamt about. He had asked her to go with him to 'an uptown affair'. 'Dressy' he had suggested, and immediately picked up on her panic that she didn't have anything 'dressy', at least in the sense she would mean it, and couldn't imagine spending the money to buy something new. 'Let's go find you something,' he insisted, ignoring her protests and apologies, and ended up buying her the gorgeous 'little black dress' for $250.00.
'Gifts like that don't come for free,' her mom's voice was an echo in her mind as she shyly thanked him for it. The 'affair', an art opening at a friend's gallery, was over-the-top. Champagne, hors' d'oeuvres and Beautiful People who were probably famous but she didn't recognize. She got a little tipsy, which in her case meant she had to sit down and not say anything for fear of giggling or exposing her small town roots, but it had been a wonderful evening. He had thanked her for being such great company, again the gentleman (she couldn't thank him enough for including her), and did not press her to come in or in any way extract 'payment' in return for his generosity. A very brief kiss at her door, his cologne lingered in her memory even now, and a promise he would call her again, perhaps next week.
She had wondered if he had any feelings for her, if his feelings in any way matched her growing sense of...desire, curiosity, affection? That he had called her again, true to his word, was a great thing, but she figured that the third date was the time to decide whether she was worth spending time and money on, 'cause he had been spending a lot of money in the last month - the dress, dinners, desserts, not to mention the sweet flowers and gifts he had sent every morning after. If he didn't feel affection for her, he was a psycho. But he didn't press her even the third time out. Their parting kiss, more than a peck, extended by her, not pushed by him. She felt almost like moving her hand down his back and pressing him into her, but the thought of being too forward killed the impulse.
Her confidence in his feelings about her grew at his fourth invitation. She had never been to Le Raku, she had no idea what the name meant, but when they walked through the door of the restaurant this evening, the diners bathed in pools of candlelight, the white tablecloths' glow through the sparkle of wine glasses, she drew in her breath. He had suggested she wear 'the little black dress' as the place he had in mind was 'fancy.' She held her grandmother's golden chain mail purse close to her as the maitre d' led them to a small corner booth, not out of fear that it would be stolen-she giggled quietly at the absurd thought, but at the feeling of inadequacy in being in such a place. Not that it would afford her any protection.
He ordered a white wine, which she didn't particularly like; she hadn't acquired a taste for it yet, but she sipped it politely. He noticed, he noticed a lot of things, she noticed; asked if she would prefer something else, didn't insist when she politely said no, but again, made her feel comfortable enough to actually say she'd prefer a bourbon and seven. Gracious. That was the word she was looking for. Gracious. He
graciously
called the waiter over, placed the order and looked...pleased, she guessed...that she had been comfortable enough to ask for it and that he could make it happen for her.
Their conversation, up until she had left for the bathroom, had turned to wine, the whole 'wine thing,' alcohol in general, and a brief detour into drug use, which made her only a little uneasy since she wasn't sure where he actually stood on the issue. She excused herself after ordering, to give her some time to take stock and figure out where the evening might be going.
As she stared at herself in the women's room mirror, adjusting her hair, the recent bob cut looked great she re-decided for the umpteenth time, refreshed her lipstick and looked at herself in the 'little black dress,' she wondered if he would ever make a move or what his intentions were. Clearly he thought enough about her to spend some serious money on her. He seemed to enjoy her company and reserved the last four Saturday nights, not to mention shopping with her, for dates, the next one better than the last. Would she put out for him if he asked? Would he ask?
And now, after settling back into her place at the table, looking at the minute salads in place in front of them, he had asked the most amazing and disturbing thing she could imagine. Well, she could probably imagine far more disturbing things, but in this place, with this atmosphere, the words didn't seem real to her.
She revisited the scene, not two minutes old in her mind's eye: she had just picked up salad fork and was beginning to sample one of the odd looking greens when he said,
"Laura, I'd like you to do me a small favor if you would." His electric blue eyes held hers as she looked up from the salad plate. Before she could say anything, her mouth full and her attention split between his handsome face and the burst of flavor from the dressing, he continued. "When it's convenient for you, I'd like you to remove your underwear, and place your naked thighs on the leather cushion." She crunched the salad and swallowed the saliva that had gathered in her mouth. The room closed in for a moment as she considered the craziness of what she had thought he had said.
"It would give me great pleasure to know that you were absolutely naked under that spectacular dress you're wearing. Would you do me the favor of removing your underwear?"
He really had said it, and his face was not the face of a pervert, at least, she never thought of a handsome forty-ish man with a great build, clean cut expensive hair-cut and designer suit as the template for a pervert. But he had just made it clear that he wanted her to sit her naked butt on the leather cushion, and do it while everyone was watching.
"But, everyone could see...," she stopped mid-sentence when she realized, after looking around as quietly as possible, that a) no-one was looking their way - they were off to the side, b) no-one could see even if they were staring at them - the booth sides were practically up to their necks and the tablecloths covered their knees, and c) it was a lame response - it suggested she would consider the notion, which apparently she
had
. Here was his move. Novel, unexpected, but not entirely undesirable.
He had made her feel at ease, but she had also felt 'easy' with him. She considered how she could remove the bikini briefs without calling attention to herself, and looked around briefly to figure where she could put them - her purse held her compact, her ID and some cash - no room there.
"I'll put them in my coat pocket, if you're concerned about where to put them." Again the gentleman, even now the gentleman - nothing should make her uneasy about the request, except of course for the request itself - which was very unsettling.
"Uh, I don't know Gareth..." she stopped again, staring at him, looking for any menace, any sense of disappointment or anger if she didn't comply. His face remained relaxed, his eyes as intense as ever, but his mouth only made her feel as if he would be happy one way or the other. "...it seems kind of...perverted." She didn't consider herself a 'prude', but she hadn't had much experience doing things out of the ordinary. Her only long-term romantic relationship had had relatively little sex in it - she had lost her virginity and she was crushed when he decided to move away to follow his dream to be a rock star - but they had never explored much outside the kinds of things she imagined people did in bed.
"Perverted," he paused to consider the remark. "I suppose you could view it that way, although I really don't like the word myself. It seems so...judgmental." He didn't bother to offer a different word for it, leaving her to feel just a little inadequate and...challenged. Up until this very moment, everything had been easy and now the feelings of being 'easy' came drifting in. She imagined where this was heading - he was making her into his mistress, his whore. Visions of her dressing in outlandish lingerie, stripping for him, getting down on her knees blossomed unbidden into her mind's eye and she shivered at her overheated imagination. The side-effect, however, was to cause her to consider his request seriously. That, and the bourbon, pushed her into a new world and a new view of herself. Whore. Hmmm.
She put down her fork, picked her napkin off her lap to dab at her lips, and with the pretense of putting the napkin back, shifted herself slightly up. Sliding the dress up behind her legs with her hands, on their return she grasped her briefs' waistband and slipped them down to her knees. Moving her hands back to the table she gave a furtive glance around to see if anyone had noticed. The panties constricted her legs even as she sensed the coolness of the leather against her skin. She wiggled her legs slightly, letting the bit of fabric drop to her feet. She presented them to him with her left foot, pushing between his knees.
He winked, his eyes glittering now, his smile lighting up and with a quick motion tucked her underwear into his coat pocket.
"Thank-you. I hope it isn't too uncomfortable for you?"
Actually, it wasn't. It was almost exhilarating. With the rush of adrenaline she had lost her appetite for the moment. Eating the salad, as enjoyable as the first bite had begun to be, was not something she wanted to contemplate. She took a swig of the dregs from her cocktail.
"Would you like something else to drink? Another of the same?"
He didn't need to get her drunk to 'do him a favor,' that was obvious, so she didn't distrust his motives for asking. She actually considered getting a little hammered, it might make her decisions going forward easier. She knew exactly where this evening would end up - with him inside her for sure, even if she wasn't completely sure how it would come to pass.
"Good idea," she smiled, "I think I'll need another, thanks."
