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Authors: Jackie Pilossoph
Tags: Romance
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anything or anyone other than the man who’d led me out of Egypt and into the Promised Land, the man who deserved a humanitarian award for saving my soul, and the man who I now craved more than Carol’s Cookies with vanilla ice-cream when I was pregnant.
I poured the wines and then led Preston out to the patio.
“I just planted those two white centennial rose bushes,” I said with pride, pointing to the flowers.
“I like the white. Very pure…”
“Unlike what we did in my bed a few nights ago?” I wanted to ask. Instead, I smiled and said nothing, my cheeks turning as red as my potted Hydrangeas.
If I had to estimate, not fifteen minutes went by before we were passionately kissing on the patio and making our way into the house and up to my bedroom. Who needed food? Who needed to go out? The two of us had only one necessity: each other. That’s why we spent the next couple hours naked.
I didn’t think the sex could get any better than it was the first time we were together. I was very wrong. Tonight was even more intense, and I wondered if this was a fluke, or if Preston loved all his women the same way he loved me.
“Do you feel okay?” he asked me at one point.
“Yes, Preston, I feel okay,” I whispered as I lie there, my naked body being showered with kisses. I wanted to tell him I felt more than okay. I wanted to tell him I felt physical bliss that was amazing, the best I’d ever felt in my life. And it was surreal, because I never knew this kind of pleasure existed. It was strange, but acceptingly inexplicable.
“I have to tell you something,” said Preston. Now resting and lying naked, Preston’s head was on my stomach and his arms were wrapped tightly around the outsides of my thighs.
“What?”
Preston sat up. “Well, I know about your husband. John told me what happened. I’ve actually known since the day after our date at Donatella’s. ”
Not wanting to face him, I rolled over and covered myself with the comforter. “Oh.”
Preston jumped over to the other side of me so I’d look at him. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”
“I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to be divorced like everyone else. I didn’t want you to see me as the sad widow.”
“You should have told me, Emma.”
“I was going to.”
“When?”
“I don’t know. This is only our second date.” I started giggling, “And it’s not really even a date.”
“Sure it is,” he smiled.
“No, it’s more of a hookup.”
“I have a great idea,” he exclaimed, “Let’s go have a dinner date in your kitchen. I’m starving.”
“Me too,” I responded, relieved that the subject had just changed. I got up, went to my dresser drawer and pulled out a t-shirt. I put my arms in it and was just about to pull it over my head when I felt him pull it up and off of me.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
Preston took my arms and said, “You should have told me, Emma.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t hide anything from me, okay?”
I nodded and went to grab my t-shirt again, but Preston just took my hand and led me out of the room and down the stairs.
“Um, can I put some clothes on?” I asked.
“No,” he said softly, “I want you to be naked for our date. I want to eat dinner with you while I look at your beautiful body.”
Huh? Me? Beautiful body? Hello, I’m 42 and had a child. I have varicose veins, a permanent tummy bulge, and back fat (it’s minimal but it’s there.) To say that feelings of immense self-consciousness and vulnerability enveloped me is putting it mildly. Then again, only Preston could cause me to feel somewhat open and okay with the whole thing.
So, standing in my kitchen completely naked, sipping red wine and eating grape and avocado salsa and chips with a man I’d met no more than a week ago was a vastly sexy experience. What was funny, though, was that we actually had very normal conversations, as if we were having lunch at a restaurant, two ordinary people
I poured the wines and then led Preston out to the patio.
“I just planted those two white centennial rose bushes,” I said with pride, pointing to the flowers.
“I like the white. Very pure…”
“Unlike what we did in my bed a few nights ago?” I wanted to ask. Instead, I smiled and said nothing, my cheeks turning as red as my potted Hydrangeas.
If I had to estimate, not fifteen minutes went by before we were passionately kissing on the patio and making our way into the house and up to my bedroom. Who needed food? Who needed to go out? The two of us had only one necessity: each other. That’s why we spent the next couple hours naked.
I didn’t think the sex could get any better than it was the first time we were together. I was very wrong. Tonight was even more intense, and I wondered if this was a fluke, or if Preston loved all his women the same way he loved me.
“Do you feel okay?” he asked me at one point.
“Yes, Preston, I feel okay,” I whispered as I lie there, my naked body being showered with kisses. I wanted to tell him I felt more than okay. I wanted to tell him I felt physical bliss that was amazing, the best I’d ever felt in my life. And it was surreal, because I never knew this kind of pleasure existed. It was strange, but acceptingly inexplicable.
“I have to tell you something,” said Preston. Now resting and lying naked, Preston’s head was on my stomach and his arms were wrapped tightly around the outsides of my thighs.
“What?”
Preston sat up. “Well, I know about your husband. John told me what happened. I’ve actually known since the day after our date at Donatella’s. ”
Not wanting to face him, I rolled over and covered myself with the comforter. “Oh.”
Preston jumped over to the other side of me so I’d look at him. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”
“I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to be divorced like everyone else. I didn’t want you to see me as the sad widow.”
“You should have told me, Emma.”
“I was going to.”
“When?”
“I don’t know. This is only our second date.” I started giggling, “And it’s not really even a date.”
“Sure it is,” he smiled.
“No, it’s more of a hookup.”
“I have a great idea,” he exclaimed, “Let’s go have a dinner date in your kitchen. I’m starving.”
“Me too,” I responded, relieved that the subject had just changed. I got up, went to my dresser drawer and pulled out a t-shirt. I put my arms in it and was just about to pull it over my head when I felt him pull it up and off of me.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
Preston took my arms and said, “You should have told me, Emma.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t hide anything from me, okay?”
I nodded and went to grab my t-shirt again, but Preston just took my hand and led me out of the room and down the stairs.
“Um, can I put some clothes on?” I asked.
“No,” he said softly, “I want you to be naked for our date. I want to eat dinner with you while I look at your beautiful body.”
Huh? Me? Beautiful body? Hello, I’m 42 and had a child. I have varicose veins, a permanent tummy bulge, and back fat (it’s minimal but it’s there.) To say that feelings of immense self-consciousness and vulnerability enveloped me is putting it mildly. Then again, only Preston could cause me to feel somewhat open and okay with the whole thing.
So, standing in my kitchen completely naked, sipping red wine and eating grape and avocado salsa and chips with a man I’d met no more than a week ago was a vastly sexy experience. What was funny, though, was that we actually had very normal conversations, as if we were having lunch at a restaurant, two ordinary people
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