Pt. 11

Donna decided to postpone her punishment (I don’t really know how she’s allowed to do that, by the way) until she can, and I quote, “wear a sexy dress that will make every man drool and want to be you without this gaudy walker in the way.” I haven’t decided if I want Donna in a drooling type dress out in public. Don’t get me wrong. I want her in the dress; I just don’t know that I want the dress out in public where other men will undoubtedly drool. It’s safe to say that I’ve never wanted that in the past; I think my barbaric and somewhat disparaging comments have proven that time and time again. However, she assures me that now that we’re together, I won’t be jealous. We’ll see about that. For instance, I’ve always been jealous as hell of the clerk at Sequoia’s who smiles at her, in what is my opinion, too friendly of a manner. And today, like every other time we’ve gone there, I wanted to reach across that counter and punch him in the face. Instead, I stood behind her, held her around the waist and rested my chin on her shoulder. Then I gave him the, ‘don’t mess with my woman’ look, which made me feel a little better. Ok, I admit it; when it comes to Donna, I’m a Neanderthal.

Anyway, my point in bringing this up is….wait a minute, what is my point in bringing this up? I just had it, but then Donna stretched and her back arched and her tank top rode up a little and, well, you know how that goes.

How does a woman do that to a man? Let’s say for instance, that I was wearing something similar to what she has on, which is pajamas…not that I would wear women’s clothing or anything, this is just hypothetical. So, instead of the boxers and t-shirt I actually have on (that’s right, I’m spending the night) I have on a tank top with really thin straps that isn’t tight, but is form fitting, and a pair of cotton shorts that aren’t obscenely short or anything, but are fairly short, and that I don’t have on socks or a bra. Also, I have the elastic waistband of my shorts rolled down a little. Have you got it? You’re picturing this? Now, are you turned on by my bare shoulders, my long shapely legs, scars and all, the small strip of stomach showing, the hint of my breasts, and my deep red toenails? No? That’s odd. Because I’ve got to tell you, she’s over there on the other side of the bed, chewing a pencil and reading a report, and I’m over here stealing glances at her every chance I get, pretending to read the same report, when if quizzed right now, I couldn’t even tell you what the subject of it is. So I ask again, how does a woman do this to a man?

**********

How does he do this to me? I managed to go seven years without kissing him, without the heat of his breath on my neck, without the feel of hands in my hair, and without hearing that adorable little sound he makes when I lick his bottom lip, yet here I am, sitting no more than three feet away from him and I’m going through withdrawal. I mean really, how pathetic am I?

I’m trying to read this report; I don’t even know what it’s about. I just flip the page every few minutes, hoping he doesn’t notice that I can’t take my eyes off him in his boxers. Now I know, Josh is a fairly normal looking guy. Most women wouldn’t swoon over him like I do; well, most women are insane. I say this because I am looking at a man in his early forty’s who has biceps any 25 year old would kill for, the kind of biceps that when wrapped around you make you feel safe. A man who has long tone legs that granted, need a little sun, but are otherwise perfect. They have just the right amount of hair; you know what I mean? Who among us hasn’t dated a man that had the leg and back hair of an ape? Who among us hasn’t dated a man with too little leg hair, leaving you wondering if he shaves, and if he does, is he gay? Right. So, when I tell you that his legs have just the right amount of hair, you know what I mean. And his chest, oh yeah. I’ve only felt it through his shirt, but it’s defined and muscular, the kind of chest you love to rest your head on.

So why am I three long feet away from him on my bed working on a Friday night when I should clearly be snuggled up to him watching ‘Independence Day?’ I’ll tell you why. He used his dimples. He said something about tomorrow being Saturday and us being able to lie in bed and not go into the office until 9:00am if we worked for an hour tonight, and then he used his dimples and just like that, I caved. So I’m sitting here, with 32 minutes of work time left, and I feel like a cocaine addict who needs a hit.

**********

When Donna starts stretching her neck, kind of rolling it slowly from side to side, I’ve had all I can take. “Ok, work time is over,” I say as I toss my things to the floor and start moving over to her side of the bed.

She keeps looking at the report about whatever, but I can see her smiling. “Josh, we have 27 minutes left. My boss said I have to work for an hour.”

"That’s because your boss can control himself around all this gorgeous alabaster skin. I, however, cannot.”

She giggles a little as I lay down next to her and run my hand very lightly down one of her arms to her leg and keep going down to her knee, but keeps her eyes on the report. “It’s just skin. You’ve seen it before.”

“Yes,” I say as I continue with the touching, dragging my hand back up her leg and resting it on her stomach, just below where the tank top ends. “But this is the first day I’ve been allowed to touch it.” With that remark, I take the report from her hands and toss it on the floor.

“You took my papers.”

“That I did.”

“Does this mean…” she raises her eyebrows and I feel a jolt of electricity. She’s not talking about sex, is she?

“Does this mean what?” I ask before I go in for the kill on her neck. Man, I love her neck. It’s long and…so…there.

“Does this mean that it’s time for the movie?” How can she be thinking of a movie right now, much less one about aliens?

“No, it’s not time…” See, I should finish that sentence, but I just can’t stop putting my lips on her skin. “…for the movie yet.” Oh yeah, I love it when she licks my lip like that. It’s incredible. “27 minutes…” Never mind. We’ll finish that sentence in a minute. Let’s continue with the kissing.

Donna has an extraordinary talent with her mouth. I’ve always known she could bring the verbal, but I had no idea the other things she was capable of. I mean, yeah, I hoped, but dreams don’t get this good. I’m somewhat concerned that her incredible talent means she’s kissed far too many men, but I’m not stupid enough to ask her that. That could end the kissing.

We make-out for about half an hour or so, and I have to say, it’s incredible. I’m looking forward to the semi-full capacity activities, but until we get there, I’m quite happy with the not-yet-semi-full capacity activities, if you catch my drift. I mean, not-yet-semi-full capacity activities include necks and lips and ears and hair and I’m just about ready to take my first reach for a breast…and that’s when Donna pulls away and announces she’s hungry.

“Yes, me too,” see I’m trying to continue with the make-out session.

“I mean for food,” she says, yet tilts her head to give me better access to her neck.

“Food?” How can she be thinking of food right now? I’m trying to cop a feel.

“Yes, it’s often cooked and served on plates, or in take-out containers.”

“See I was thinking of more kissing, and…”

“And?”

“And…you know…other things.”

“Other things?” She asks laughing a little. “What other things, Joshua?” She sits totally up now, which isn’t any fun at all.

I want to grab your breast. See, I don’t think that’s the thing to say right now. I’m not much of a ladies man, but somehow, I doubt that’s the way to go. You don’t discuss the logistics of hand on breast action; you’re supposed to be suave about these things. “I thought I could…familiarize myself with…more of you.” In hindsight, I’m not sure that was much better.

She laughs again, so I don’t think I’m in too much trouble. “Really? How much more of me did you have in mind?”

See, I know I should look at her face right now, but my eyes just kind of move on their own to her breasts. I know I’m a pig. I can’t help it. Seven years, people, seven years!!! “Um, you know. Just parts of you.” Oh man, I am blowing this.

**********

I’m so freaking turned on right now, I’m tempted to say screw the leg, let’s just do it. I know; but Josh is looking at me like I’m a present he’s dying to unwrap. You have no idea how sexy it is. Seven years, people, seven years!!! And although I’d like to say I’m not a first date kind of girl, I’ve had my moments. Cliff was the second date and Colin was the 3^rd day I’d known him, and we didn’t even go on official dates. We just roamed Gaza and talked about death and destruction.

Ok, let’s be realistic. Josh and I cannot have sex tonight. We can’t. I don’t want to be screaming in pain the whole time. I mean, yeah, I want to scream, but not in pain. See, that was just wrong to say, wasn’t it? “Parts of me, huh?” We might not be able to have sex, but I don’t see any reason why we can’t…explore a little.

“Just some parts.” How could I not love this man? He’s such a bumbling fool. I just adore him.

I am starving, however, which is entirely his fault. He ripped me out of that deli this afternoon with only half my sandwich gone. “Tell you what.” He sits up, excited, like I’m about to let him unwrap the present. “Once I have food in my stomach, I say everything from the waist up is fair game.” I love this. I love that we can talk about this stuff and that it’s not awkward like it usually is when you start dating. I love that we can make a joke out of it, because we joke around all the time, it’s what we do.

His eyes look like they’re about to pop out of his head, and he just did a double take of my torso, as if to check and see what waist up means. “Really?” He comes back in for a kiss and his hands immediately reach for my stomach.

“Food first, Joshua. I need to eat.”

“Right, food. Just…one more kiss, I can’t get enough,” he says before devouring my lips again. Not that I’m complaining.

I give him a minute or so because, well, I like to kiss him, before pulling away and pointing out the obvious. “The sooner we eat, the sooner we can get to the waist up stuff,” I say, but go in for another kiss myself. I’m as bad as he is.

“Right.” Well that did it, because he just jumped off the bed and walked out of the room.

“Where are you going?” I call after him.

“I’m going to cook.” What? I must not have heard that right.

“You’re going to what?”

“Cook. What do you have?” Nothing, I have nothing. Josh and I have eaten take-out every single night since my mom went back to Wisconsin, I have no food.

“I don’t think I have anything,” I say just as he walks back into the bedroom with a box in his hand. “What did you find?”

“Pancake mix. I make really great pancakes.” Really? Why am I just now learning this?

“You’re going to cook for me?” You have to understand my shock here. On a regular basis, this man has nothing in his refrigerator except Pepto-Bismol and BBQ sauce. I don’t know why there’s always BBQ sauce, when there’s never meat, but that’s a discussion for another time.

He smiles, obviously very proud of what he’s about to do. “Yes.”

“You’re going to cook? For me?”

Still smiling. “I, Joshua Lyman, am going to make pancakes for you, Donnatella Moss, yes.”

“Why?”

He leans down and kisses me on the forehead. “I can’t tell you why for another 6 days.” And see, just like that he stops my heart. Just when I think he’s going to make a comment about getting in my shirt, he tells me he loves me. Just when I expect him to be…well, him, he says something romantic. Something that is only between the two of us; something that is charming and sweet and perfect and straight from his heart.

“Plus it’ll take too long for a pizza to get here. We need to hurry so we can get to the waist up stuff.”