Switching it Up

Chapter Five-2

“I took the liberty of ordering ahead for us. Hope you don’t mind, but I was starving! The banquet looked great to share. It should be here any minute. I told them to bring it for 7 p.m., so we’re ready to watch the game.” He’s talking to me without that undressing gaze he sometimes has, and I feel glad that we’ve transitioned to a less confronting interaction. He half rises off the couch and takes the television remote from the armrest, flicking the set onto the muted football channel. “Game’s about to start now!” The doorbell sounds as he finishes his sentence. “They’re early!”

“What do I owe you?” I ask, rising to head for my purse in my coat’s inner pocket.

Chris puts up his hand from where he’s sitting on the couch, landing it on the verge of my mid inner thigh.

“No, nothing. You brought the scotch. Sit down, Meg, I have this covered.” He heads toward the door as I return to my sitting position.

As soon as he opens the door I can smell the magnificent aroma of the meal, and my stomach starts to audibly gurgle. Lunch was a long time ago, and I forgot to eat my apple while doing my grading this afternoon. If I slide the coffee table a little closer to the couch, it will make an impromptu dinner table—I set it up ready for us to use.

Returning and placing the meal between us, Chris resumes his place beside me on the couch. We sit close together, forward on the couch as we negotiate serving dinner. He unpacks the banquet, complete with disposable utensils, and I lift the lids on the trays. We’re soon completely absorbed in our meal, sharing half of each dish, straight from the container. We utter several appreciative noises as we gorge on the tasty fare, and at one point Chris hand feeds me a small piece of Peking duck, the only dish presented that I am unfamiliar with and unsure about. I haven’t had good Chinese like this for a long time.

The apparent intimacy of the moment is lost in our preoccupation with eating. My eventual contentment culminates in me leaning back into the couch as Chris pushes the coffee table away and leans back to join me, meeting my eye. We sigh as we share that post-meal, blissful relaxation, our hands folded across our burgeoning bellies.

“That was great!” I say on a content, outward breath; my body sunken into the chair as though lead weights are holding me down. Chris responds with a smile that shows he shares the feeling.

“Sensational,” he replies, leaning toward me, placing his hand on top of mine, scooping his fingers around my palm. He draws my hand onto his thigh and encloses it between both of his big, strong hands. I grasp his hand in response and look into those pretty eyes, melting into them, allowing myself to connect with him here and now. I’m totally disarmed.

“I really like you, Meg. I’m glad you came tonight,” he half whispers, leaning in to gently peck my forehead. “Don’t believe everything you hear about me, okay? It’s okay to relax.” He raises his hand to smooth a wisp of hair away from my face, and I can see sincerity mixed with a tiny touch of insecurity in his facial expression. His smile is only slight, almost as though he’s struggling with a little vulnerability himself. I kiss his bottom lip before drawing away to meet his eye.

“I like you too, Chris. Thanks for inviting me,” I respond. “And ‘ditto’ regarding what others say about me, got it?” I giggle perhaps a little too loud. His smile returns to the usual confident, full-bodied glowing grin he normally wears, and I find myself mirroring him.

Chris’s posture stiffens as he half sits up. He keeps my hand in his grasp and reaches across with one hand to retrieve my scotch, passing it to me before collecting his own. “Game time!” he exclaims, waking us from our trance. I don’t have any emotion invested in either of the teams playing, but it’s early in the season and I’m always willing to watch a competitive game. I face the screen, drawn into the atmosphere. Our hands are still folded together. He leans in against me, pressing his bicep against mine as we settle in to watch the game unfold. Very cozy.

The competition between the sides is fierce and an epic battle to establish some kind of lead is fought all through the first half. Both teams are committed to running the ball, playing the type of “ground and pound” that I enjoy watching and apparently Chris likes as well. They trade the lead several times before the clock hits zero on the second quarter. Part of me has always enjoyed looking at the players’ shapely butts in their stretched athletic pants, especially if the pants are white. Tonight, though, it only makes me wish Chris was on the field onscreen, so I could see what his physique really looks like. I might get my chance anyway; it would be antisocial to not get involved in supporting the local league.

“Halftime,” I state, and reluctantly free my hand from Chris’s grasp. “Which way to the powder room?” I ask.

“I’ll show you. You haven’t had a tour yet!” Chris replies. “How remiss of me. Right this way, ma’am.”

He rises from his seat and offers his hand to pull me to a standing position before leading me to see his home. The guided tour involves a walkthrough of the kitchen and dining area, which I could see from my vantage points by the fireplace and on the couch. We progress down a short hallway to his study, spare room, and finally his bedroom. “I only have the master bathroom, through here.” He motions, drawing me into his bedroom. It feels a little confronting to enter such a sacred space as his bedroom with him, but he summons me with a smile and urges me to come in. “It’s okay, little lady. You don’t need to worry, I hid all of the girly magazines before you arrived.”

“Oh, well that’s all right then,” I retort. “Besides, what I’ve got is better. Just saying.” I smile.

“Like I didn’t notice.”[SEK1]

“You need to go, you can’t be hearing me tinkle.”

“Okay, okay, but I can still hear from the kitchen. These walls are paper thin.”

“Well, go pour me some more scotch and yell when you start pouring.” I laugh “Don’t listen. It’s private.”

“That’s fine, but not too many ladies can say they’ve used my facilities. You better count yourself as special.”

“I know I’m special, I don’t need your say-so, but it’s nice to know that you’re so into me.”

“Yeah right, princess. Go claim your throne. It’s right in there.”

“My drink isn’t pouring itself.” I playfully push him toward the bedroom door, then make my way for the toilet.

“Departing without a royal wave, your highness?”

I respond with the appropriate regal hand-gesture and he retreats toward the kitchen, allowing me to get on with my business.

“Make sure you wash your hands,” he says.

“What kind of a wild animal do you think I am?” I ask, incredulous that he’d suggest I’d forget such a thing.

“Do you really want me to answer that?” he calls back.

I use the opportunity to neaten myself up a little, but it’s a losing battle. It’s been a normal, lazy Sunday and the sparse range of cosmetics I carry with me are well short of the requirement to do much good. I also don’t want it to look like I’ve been obsessing over my appearance in here, so I just tidy my hair a touch and put a little nude lip gloss on where the food wore it away. I’m surprised that my reflection is not as tragic an image as I had envisioned, but getting rained on and buffeted by wind is seldom the way to enhance your appeal.

“You haven’t fallen in, have you?” Chris calls from the living area. “I can call the fire department if you need them.”

“Wouldn’t you try to save me first?” I ask as I emerge from the bedroom and descend into the sunken lounge area as he stands by the fireplace with our beverages in his hands.

“Would you want me to?” he asks as he hands me my drink. “I wouldn’t want to embarrass you.”

“Because falling into a toilet would be less embarrassing when you have a whole fire department to rescue you, rather than one good friend?” I respond.

“Good friend. So that’s what you see me as. Not what I had hoped for after last Tuesday night, but I’ll take it, if that’s all you’re giving.” He smiles good naturedly. “So do you kiss all of your good friends like that?”

“No, only the cute ones who are good kissers,” I respond, stony faced. Who has the upper hand now, Mr. Smooth?

“Oh, I see. And am I a good kisser?” He isn’t phased at all by this game, the power play I’d hoped is pretty sedate. He’s a self-assured guy; he’s maybe a tiny touch rattled, but he conceals it well.

“Um, it was all right, I suppose.” I grin, unable to be manipulative any longer. He sees straight through me anyway.

“Wow. Usually it’s a definite yes. I must have been off form. Will you allow me an attempt to redeem myself?” He speaks with sincerity, as though he’s truly convinced he needs to mend an ill. “I’ll try not to disappoint you.”

“It’ll be a struggle for me, but I’ll allow it just this once,” I say with a happy smile.

Chris takes my hand and leads me back to the couch, then turns toward me and places one hand on my waist as we stand face to face. He takes the glass from my hand and puts it down beside with his own, then places his cold, whiskey-chilled hand on my face, supporting my jaw, gently guiding me into a receptive position. His eyes connect with mine and already I can feel his magic sprinkling itself all over my body.

“No pressure, but if you blow it, I’ll never kiss you again,” I whisper with a smile. He laughs aloud then recomposes himself before leaning in.

“May I kiss you, Meg?” he asks as he looks into my eyes. I can feel his breath skim across my most delicate skin.

“Yes,” I whisper.

We tilt our chins, body-language synchronizing to align perfectly for the moment our lips touch. The impact of the velvety softness of his lips upon mine is electrifying. The warmth as the kiss deepens to become passionate and open mouthed is intoxicating. Our mouths merge together. We linger for several minutes, alternating between gentle but forceful pressure and hungry engagement to the most tender and subtle caressing touching of lips. Our eyes connect the whole time, but my urge is to close my eyes and explore the mental journey this sensation is giving me. I know I’d be seeing stars—my head is already spinning as though I am drunk.

The feeling of his tongue exploring mine induces a moist gush in my panties. I respond with a muffled moan and my hands grab at his torso, seeking to become more intimate with the contours of his body. He realizes his effect has been felt, and he withdraws. We’re both breathless. I rest my forehead on his shoulder. His arms fold around me and I feel him kiss the back of my head and press his cheek down against my hair. I would be happy for time to stop right now. The silence is golden, but slowly reality creeps back in and the moment is gone.

We resume an independent stance—I hadn’t realized we were leaning on each other until right now. Chris places both of his hands in a stabilizing bridge between my skull and my neck on each side, holding my head erect with this thumbs on my jaw. He looks into my eyes.

“Did the earth just move for you, or was it just me who felt that?” he asks.

I smile and he knows I can’t deny it, but to verbalize it is too big a challenge just yet. We sit back down together and he puts his arm around me. I feel like I’m his girl and I really like the way that feels.

“Are you relaxed now?” Chris asks.

“Yes, I’m fine, thanks.”

“Sit back baby, I have a little treat for you.”

Chris withdraws his arm from behind me and leans across my lap, reaching down toward my feet. I’m not sure what he’s up to. He picks up my right foot and eases off the heel of my shoe, then slides it off of my stocking-clad foot. I’m glad I wore some of my prettiest heels today! He picks up the left foot and again removes my footwear, first easing the heel down before smoothly rotating it off of my foot. His strong hands lift up my feet, tipping me backward unexpectedly on the seat before using my feet as a handle to pivot my body and my feet land in his lap. Chris urges me to get comfortable.