“Anticipation! Anticipaaaaaation … is making me
wait. Is making me waaaaaaaaaait.” I sing loud and off key while I drive
towards Ithaca. Stanley did call and here I am, the next Friday, meeting him
for dinner. The week has been full of increasingly specific and tantalizing
conversation. Forget being coy. After the last date, I’ve given in to my inner
beast and have taken up talking like the best romance novel strumpet possible.
Euphemisms fly back and forth, and then the euphemisms are thrown over for the
actual descriptions. And now I'm heading to dinner, and I know what's for dessert: either ice cream cones or chocolate-covered bananas.
I pull into the parking lot of the Odyssey Steak
House and flip the visor down. Do I look lascivious? Too
desperate? Just enough of a mix between a vixen and an ingénue? Whatever. I
pull my hair back and open my eyes wide. Nope, there’s no way this mess of
silver-tinged dark curls and smile lines around my eyes can look any younger
than, oh, maybe 45. I need to get my hair colored again. Come on, Jackie, just
pull up your lacey big girl panties and walk into the restaurant.
As we talk, Stanley becomes more and more attractive. His eyes’ quiet intensity – which look intently while not staring – and his balding gray hair both are more handsome
than during the first date. His strong hands and kind face stand out more than
the slight paunch. I question whether my
triage lines for the dating site are maybe too stringent, since I wouldn't have
met Stanley if he hadn't pushed. Of course, maybe it was the fact that he cared
to push that worked.
During dinner, though, the weather turns. A fairly
cold breeze comes off the lake and gray clouds hide the sunset as we walk
towards the parking lot.
“I planned to drive us to Taughannock Falls Park
to walk along the trails, but I guess this weather isn't going to cooperate.” Stanley
steers us towards his car, which this time is a sleek BMW roadster. I really
want to ride in it, but if the evening goes the way I hope, I need my car at
his house. It occurs to me again that my track record, what there is of one, seems to be rather focused.
But I am having fun, and right now, that’s all that counts.
“How about I follow you in my car?”
“Um, ok. I wanted to watch you enjoying the roadster, but I guess that'll have to wait.” Stanley’s voice sounds a little
peeved, as if his plans have been annoyingly changed. Quickly his voice changes,
though, and he huskily whispers, “You'll want to have it in the morning.”
With his sons at their mom’s and the house empty,
this time he leads me into the living room instead of leaving me in the entry.
“Here, let me give you a grand tour.” Expensive,
mid-century designer furniture fills each room. A two-story floor-to-ceiling bookcase filled
with leather-bound books connects to the west-facing wall of windows, and a
flagstone fireplace opposite has two original rosewood Eames lounge chairs with
ottomans set in front. The kitchen’s blue-glass tiled backsplash compliments
the blue-granite counters and blue-gray slate floors. A mod white pedestal
table and set of pedestal chairs sit in the breakfast area, and the dining room
has a complete Haywood-Wakefield birchwood dining room set. Money is apparent
everywhere.
A gallery’s worth of Minimalist and Pop Art
paintings cover the walls. “Oh, who’s that artist?” I ask about one of the
iconic images. “I can't remember his name!”
“That’s a signed Roy Lichtenstein.” Stanley doesn't look back or stop walking. “A friend who knows Lichtenstein got that for my ex and me.
All of the art is original; I can't stand prints.”
Without thinking I blurt out, “David
would love these.” Before I can sputter an explanation – David’s presence in my
mind unsettling me - Stanley pulls me insistently by my elbow up the black
metal and mahogany spiral staircase.
“And here’s the bedroom.” He walks into the room
triumphantly. An absolutely huge bed with black, green and gold satin linens
anchors a wall below a line of horizontal windows, the view of the treetops and
the woods in the rain creating its own painting of serenity. I stand a little
transfixed, my toes sinking into the soft white shag carpet. Music’s playing
from somewhere. Just as I hear the panting and
percussion crescendo of Barry White’s “Never, Never Gonna Give You Up,”
Stanley’s bare arms wrap around me from behind and he’s kissing my neck. I can
feel that he’s naked, and my senses swiftly refocus their attention.
“You are so sexy.” Stanley unbuttons my gold-silk
blouse, slips it off and then undoes my bra.
“Well I guess we aren't taking any time. Here, let
me help you.” I laugh self-consciously as I quickly unbutton my black skirt’s
waistband and pull it off, hoping he hasn't noticed the way my waist makes soft
rolls over the edge. As I am stepping out of the skirt, though, Stanley leans
over my back and takes my breasts in his hands. I guess he either didn't notice
or he doesn't care.
“I'd love to take you right here like this.” Barry
White moans in the background. Unintentionally I glance up for a mirror ball.
I stand up instead and turn around. “Then we should lay down. I don't have the best balance and I'd hate to topple
over.” Shoot. That sounds really lame.
I decide to take things into my own hands, and I
kiss him hard on the mouth and then start kissing my way down his chest. As I squat
farther and farther down, I hope he takes my holding onto his sides as sexy and
not the need for stabilizing support. Then, as my kissing trail nears its end
point, Stanley gently pushes me away. “Just a moment,” he says in a throaty
voice. I fall back on my heels while he opens the bedside table drawer.
“Give it to me.” I reach across the bed backwards
in a bad rendition of a yoga pose that doesn’t feel remotely sexy, but I'm more
nervous than focused right now. Earlier this week Jane loaned me an illustrated how-to manual
about using my mouth to put on a condom and I think I have it figured out. Now
it’s show time.
I return to my trailblazing after we've gotten
back to our original places, kissing with my eyes closed as I mentally go
through the different condom application steps I need to take in a moment. “Oh,
sorry,” I mutter bumping into his penis when fumbling with the condom.
I look up attempting to be brazenly sexy and
notice he’s watching me with a hint of amusement. I look back down, try not to
get distracted analyzing the physical structure of his penis, and roll the condom
just a bit onto the head. I try humming as I place my mouth around the end,
begin to move my lips down … and nothing happens. I try again, get a little
farther but not very far. Now this gets personal. I scowl, grab the edges of
the condom with my fingertips and start to pull. I forget I'm dealing with an
actual human being and not a practice cucumber and I don't notice when things begin bending in the wrong
direction.
“Whoa, here, let me take this over.” Stanley’s
voice is a little high. “That’s better,” he murmurs as he lifts me onto the bed
after expertly finishing the job. "You just had it upside down."
Quickly we are having very athletic sex. He moves and pulls me into several positions, and many times he
stops his thrusting to go back down between my legs and bring me to that point
when the orgasm becomes almost painful.
My enthusiasm surprises me as much as it excites Stanley.
“OW, ow, ow, ow! My calf!” I quickly unwrap my
feet from behind Stanley’s neck, and while I try to grab my cramping leg, push
him backwards and bring my other knee down into his crotch.
“AAHH!” Stanley
turns quickly, sliding out from under me.
“Oh no! I'm
sorry! Are you ok?” I'm half caught
into the sheets and half bent to rub my calf, horrified and yet still somewhat
in pain.
“Yes, yes,” Stanley rolls onto his stomach. “We're
not out of commission yet. You just
missed me.”
For a moment we both breathe heavily, the last few
minutes and the late hour slowing down the momentum. What a
dork I am. I pull the sheet out from around my legs and hips.
Stanley, though, gets up onto his knees, turns me
around whispering “Here, this is what we need,” and before I know it, we have
launched into another position, his tongue running down my neck and
backbone.
Crisis averted, the sex starts up once more.
In the morning, the sun’s out, the dogwood trees
are in bloom, and Stanley makes me cream cheese scrambled eggs and cracked
wheat toast. He even juices fresh orange juice. I’m still in full afterglow,
well, slightly sore afterglow and don't bother to tell him that I am not a
fan of orange juice.
“I really enjoyed last night,” Stanley looks over
his coffee cup at me. “You seemed to be enjoying yourself too.”
“Oh yes! That was a wonderful work out.” Great
word choice! “I mean, it was more than I had expected. Better than I had
expected. Not that I was expecting anything bad.” Stop now!
“That’s great.” Stanley puts the dishes into the
washer and turns, “Well, I have some pressing work to get done. I'll walk you
out to your car, ok?”
“Sooo? Tell us! What happened?”
Jane, Mary, Stacey and I sit in a booth at Perkins
later that afternoon. I arrived home at 10:00 and by 10:30, all three had
called or texted. We are meeting for lunch so I only have to describe it once.
“Well, this morning was gorgeous with the sun and
the dogwoods and the lake view. By the time I got to the kitchen, Stanley had
made breakfast. And his house is amazing!”
“Come on, Jackie! You know what we meant!” Jane
leans forward, with Stacey and Mary sitting back and attempting - though failing - to seem a little
less caught. No one, though, touches her food.
“You mean the sex?” I pick up my sandwich. “It was
like a tantric marathon, an exercise in Kama Sutra and coital endurance.” I
stuff a bite into my mouth to cover the bit of sarcasm.
“Don't tell me you didn't do it.” Jane sits back.
“What? Didn’t do what?” Mary asks, looking at both
Jane and me. “You didn't have sex? What was athletic then?”
“No, Jane. There wasn't any dessert.” I say defensively around
my bite of sandwich.
“But you had practiced and everything! What
happened?”
“I got things messed up, tried to put the condom
on wrong, and then I almost kneed him. After that, Stanley just took over, like
he didn't trust me with his penis.” For some reason I feel a bit ashamed. To
make up for my disappointing news, I then blurt out “But we did almost
everything else!”
“Well, I think oral sex is overrated,” Mary said
as she cut up her salad greens. “Donald and I have a wonderful sex life, but it’s
been years since I gave him a blow-job.”
Stacey laughs. “Mary you sound like the punch-line
to the joke ‘Do you know why the bride was smiling while walking down the aisle at her wedding?’”
“She didn't have to give any more blow-jobs,” Jane
and I answer back in unison. I laugh, but I think how that could easily have
been John and me.
The conversation starts up about different merits
of different sex habits, and my text alert goes off. It’s from Stanley. The
others are deep in the pros and cons of having outdoor sex, so I check what he
wants.
Thanx 4 last
nite. Not sure, tho, we r compatible.
What?
I text back: What?
Ur a nice
woman, & it’s not you but me. Wr 2 difrent. All best finding a better guy.
Really? Does he know how ironic this is? Does he
even know the meaning of the word?
“I've just been dumped.” I’m stunned and the table
conversation stops. “And in bad text writing no less.”
Posted by Jackie Connolly