Applebee's - Redux
We’ve made plans to meet again the following Wednesday after work. By this point, I’ve convinced myself that I’m not doing anything wrong. I feel nothing but anticipation--not even a shred of guilt over what I know is the inevitable.
I meet David at a bar near his job, and together we drive down to Applebee’s in my SUV. As we sit in traffic, I can barely bring myself to look at him for any length of time, and he shakes his legs furiously up and down as he reclines in the passenger seat. I make a lame joke about my anxiety, and he humors me by laughing in response. I’m glad to see that he’s as nervous as I am.
I pull into the parking lot at Applebee’s and together we head toward the door. He makes a smart remark about how much he enjoys walking behind me so he can admire my ass in the jeans I’m wearing. Walking ahead of him, I grin but ignore him.
We grab a table in the bar area and spend two hours together, laughing, drinking, and eating. Our waiter makes several comments to us about being a couple, even refers to me when speaking to D. as “the Mrs.” Neither of us makes any attempt to correct him. We just exchange conspiratorial glances and smile.
David looks good enough to devour. He keeps apologizing for not being cleaned up enough for me—he’s still in his work clothes: old jeans, work boots, a faded brown hoodie and a black t-shirt underneath—but I tell him truthfully that I prefer him this way. In fact, I can’t look at him for too long because he’s just so gorgeous—it’s like staring directly into the sun. I’m blinded by his beautiful face, his long, lean body...the whole package. He’s incredible.
About fifteen minutes into our meal, David takes my right hand between his two enormous, calloused, warm palms. It feels good. Natural. It just feels so right. I don’t pull my hand away from his.
He keeps asking me if I’m okay, if I feel okay about all this. Nothing’s even happened yet. I nod and laugh. “Of course I’m okay!” Being with him makes me feel like I’m twenty years old again, which I tell him giddily. I feel buoyant, as if I’m floating a few feet above the ground. I forget about every other aspect of my life when I’m with him.
After the waiter clears our dishes from the table, David asks if he can try some of my frozen strawberry daiquiri. I watch him wrap his lips around the straw and take a long sip, his eyes almost shut. Then he turns to me, his face expressionless, and murmurs, “Can I kiss you now?”
This is the moment I’ve been waiting for, and I am positively helpless to resist him. I lean forward to meet his lips and feel a thousand fireworks explode within me as he gently presses his mouth into mine. The soft hair of his mustache tickles my face; it’s different, but it feels marvelous. His kiss is slow, sensual, and makes me shudder with desire. Our open mouths just barely touch, and we breathe in synchronicity. His right hand cups the side of my face as the tip of his tongue caresses mine. He carefully takes my lower lip into his mouth and sucks on it with the tiniest amount of pressure.
My entire body weakens at his touch. I’ve come undone.
I pull away and look down at the tile floor beneath my stool. He presses his forehead against the crown of my head and runs his fingers through my hair. “Wow,” I breathe.
Finally, I look up at him, trying to gauge his reaction. Does he feel it too?
He smiles. “That was long overdue. I feel like I’m twenty again, too.”
Soon we’re kissing again, in slow motion, completely oblivious to our surroundings. I pull away again reluctantly and remark that we should probably quit now because we’re in a family establishment. He wraps his arms around me and pushes his head against mine, rubbing his face slowly back and forth in my hair and inhaling deeply, as if he can’t get enough of my scent.
We pay the bill and leave. Outside the restaurant, I hesitate. Where can we go from here? Suddenly David grabs my shoulders, turns me around to face him, and gives me a long, searching look before he kisses me again, this time more forcefully, as we stand beneath the warm glow of a streetlight in the parking lot.
Time stands still.
I meet David at a bar near his job, and together we drive down to Applebee’s in my SUV. As we sit in traffic, I can barely bring myself to look at him for any length of time, and he shakes his legs furiously up and down as he reclines in the passenger seat. I make a lame joke about my anxiety, and he humors me by laughing in response. I’m glad to see that he’s as nervous as I am.
I pull into the parking lot at Applebee’s and together we head toward the door. He makes a smart remark about how much he enjoys walking behind me so he can admire my ass in the jeans I’m wearing. Walking ahead of him, I grin but ignore him.
We grab a table in the bar area and spend two hours together, laughing, drinking, and eating. Our waiter makes several comments to us about being a couple, even refers to me when speaking to D. as “the Mrs.” Neither of us makes any attempt to correct him. We just exchange conspiratorial glances and smile.
David looks good enough to devour. He keeps apologizing for not being cleaned up enough for me—he’s still in his work clothes: old jeans, work boots, a faded brown hoodie and a black t-shirt underneath—but I tell him truthfully that I prefer him this way. In fact, I can’t look at him for too long because he’s just so gorgeous—it’s like staring directly into the sun. I’m blinded by his beautiful face, his long, lean body...the whole package. He’s incredible.
About fifteen minutes into our meal, David takes my right hand between his two enormous, calloused, warm palms. It feels good. Natural. It just feels so right. I don’t pull my hand away from his.
He keeps asking me if I’m okay, if I feel okay about all this. Nothing’s even happened yet. I nod and laugh. “Of course I’m okay!” Being with him makes me feel like I’m twenty years old again, which I tell him giddily. I feel buoyant, as if I’m floating a few feet above the ground. I forget about every other aspect of my life when I’m with him.
After the waiter clears our dishes from the table, David asks if he can try some of my frozen strawberry daiquiri. I watch him wrap his lips around the straw and take a long sip, his eyes almost shut. Then he turns to me, his face expressionless, and murmurs, “Can I kiss you now?”
This is the moment I’ve been waiting for, and I am positively helpless to resist him. I lean forward to meet his lips and feel a thousand fireworks explode within me as he gently presses his mouth into mine. The soft hair of his mustache tickles my face; it’s different, but it feels marvelous. His kiss is slow, sensual, and makes me shudder with desire. Our open mouths just barely touch, and we breathe in synchronicity. His right hand cups the side of my face as the tip of his tongue caresses mine. He carefully takes my lower lip into his mouth and sucks on it with the tiniest amount of pressure.
My entire body weakens at his touch. I’ve come undone.
I pull away and look down at the tile floor beneath my stool. He presses his forehead against the crown of my head and runs his fingers through my hair. “Wow,” I breathe.
Finally, I look up at him, trying to gauge his reaction. Does he feel it too?
He smiles. “That was long overdue. I feel like I’m twenty again, too.”
Soon we’re kissing again, in slow motion, completely oblivious to our surroundings. I pull away again reluctantly and remark that we should probably quit now because we’re in a family establishment. He wraps his arms around me and pushes his head against mine, rubbing his face slowly back and forth in my hair and inhaling deeply, as if he can’t get enough of my scent.
We pay the bill and leave. Outside the restaurant, I hesitate. Where can we go from here? Suddenly David grabs my shoulders, turns me around to face him, and gives me a long, searching look before he kisses me again, this time more forcefully, as we stand beneath the warm glow of a streetlight in the parking lot.
Time stands still.
posted by Anonymous at 11/05/2006 08:09:00 PM
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