Just For Us

"Well, baby," I sigh into the mouthpiece, "I miss you too... but no one ever said that these long-distance romances were easy."

I stretch my bare body along the length of my bed, tiger-like, and somehow manage to keep the phone by my ear. The low tone of a frustrated growl comes from your end of the line. You might be hundreds of miles away, but you sound like you're in my bed with me... although that doesn't happen as often as either one of us would like.

I absent-mindedly drag the soft pima cotton sheet across my breasts as I listen to the sound of your goatee rub against the phone. Almost immediately, I catch myself imagining that the sheet is your beard brushing against my heated skin. Even a civil phone conversation with you turns me on.

Your voice vibrates through the phone line, husky and sweet. "Remember our last conversation? I said I just wanted to be alone with you for a week or two? You and me. No phones, no TVs. No nightclubs with the gang or barbecues with the folks, no appearances, no premieres. Some time just for us?"

I close my eyes so that I can better imagine your animated face as you continue preaching to the converted. As if I needed any convincing?!

Your voice is gruff as you continue your train of thought. "I mean it, baby. You've been working way too hard, always on some project or another for weeks on end without a break. That firm of yours has run you ragged, what with all the layoffs and you having to reorganize your group over and over. I'm pretty near fried as well. I'm sorry to say that I'm almost glad the show looks like it's going to get cancelled."

Shocked by your last comment, I gasp, "Oh, sweetie! You don't mean that!"

I hear you sigh over the phone and can see you in my mind's eye, running your fingers through your hair in frustration. Your tone softens when you speak again. "You know I don't really mean it, but the schedule has been nothing less than brutal. It will only get more hectic if the network picks us up for a full season and then more so if they renew us for next season. With more time and money invested in us by the network, we'll have to make every episode better than the last. And add to that, all the press junkets and conventions that the networks will start lining up for us if the buzz about the show accelerates."

There have been times when the low points in your career would worry me. Now I see that I also have to concern myself when your career is doing well. All I want is to see you happy and satisfied with your life and the path you've chosen. "I understand. I realize the show puts a lot of pressure on you, sweetie, both on and off-screen. I have noticed that on the last couple of episodes it looks like you've lost some weight."

Your throaty laugh bursts out across the phone line, giving me a start. "Not you too, baby! Even the fan blogs and gossip websites are saying I've lost weight! They're all crying about how skinny I look and they're convinced that's why I'm always dressed in turtlenecks. Don't they know how cold it is up here in the Great White North?"

Sheepishly, I answer, "Well, you do look a bit thinner."

"Listen to me, one way or the other, the show is on hiatus, maybe permanently. So right now, my main concern is that I miss you. Just a week or so of sleeping late, making love, eating, drinking and talking 'til all hours of the night. How about it? I'm not getting enough of you, maybe that's why I look thinner."

Your whispered tone is serious when you state with finality, "I... need... to... see... you!"

I feel the same way, smiling warmly and aching at the thought of finally getting you all to myself, not having to share you with family, friends, co-stars or fans.

I respond eagerly, "You are so right, babe. How about this coming weekend?"

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Aside from our attempts at maintaining some semblance of a relationship through regular visits, we've dabbled in phone sex. I have to say - if your film career ever hits a serious dry spell, you could certainly make money with your own 1-900 number. I know numerous girlfriends who would gladly hand over some of their hard-earned cash to hear you whisper sweet nothings in their ear. But that's where I draw the line in sharing you... I will share your image on screen, but only because it is your chosen profession.

We have only managed to make this relationship work so far because we never limited our views of what we thought was erotic or sexy. Because face it... you can carry on just about any other aspect of a relationship long-distance. But generally with sex, you usually have to be in the same room... with your significant other... for it to be really good.

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You growl huskily, "Yes, please! This weekend, if not sooner! Besides, I don't think I can take much more of trying to convince my body that my hands are actually your hands touching me. I want the real thing."

I giggle uncontrollably, loving when you get like this. We've had very little quality time together when we visit each other, what with family, social and professional obligations, errands, etc. So we begin plotting a getaway, to satisfy all our lusts, of the mind, of the palate, and... thank you very much... of the body. After all, a gal needs to get laid just as badly as a guy does, no?

I reach over to the nightstand for a pad and pen and begin to jot down our thoughts about where to go. After we resolve a few specifics, I say, "I can take care of all the arrangements in the next couple of days. I'll call you when I've got everything settled."

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We arrange to go to Las Vegas and stay at the Bellagio, where we can eat, gamble, dance, spa, swim, shop or simply stay put in our suite. You fly in from Vancouver early Friday evening and I arrive from the East Coast late Friday afternoon. Staying here will help to avoid anyone tracking us down. Who knows? You just might luck out and not get recognized all that much this week. This is something that's happening less and less with you having recently gone from the big screen to the small one.

I arrive first and check in. The young bellhop escorts me to our suite. It's an absolutely gorgeous series of rooms all done up in delicate shades of cream and gold. The afternoon sunlight entering through the French doors that lead to the balcony makes the entire living room area and all its furnishings glow and shimmer. I finish checking out the rest of the suite and make sure the champagne I ordered for us is chilling nicely. Thanking the bellhop for bringing in my luggage, I tip him and see him out.

I wander over to the intricately carved writing desk and locate some of the richly embossed Bellagio stationery. I jot you a quick note, telling you that you'll find me at the main pool by the cabanas. I place the note on the queen-size bed where I'm certain you'll spot it. I quickly dig through my suitcase for a pair of sandals, my bathing suit and cover-up to change into.

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I've been lounging by the pool for about an hour, leisurely adjusting my sunglasses as I read my book, I Know This Much Is True, by Wally Lamb. You absolutely raved about it when you read it, so I picked it up to read on the plane. Setting the book down beside the chaise, I reach for the icy cold glass that holds my vodka and tonic.

The strong Nevada sun warms my skin almost as much as my thoughts of you warm the rest of me. Amazing to think how strong the sun is here even at 5pm. I'm starting to get a bit restless, knowing that you are en route. Knowing that very soon your dark gaze will be looking directly at me. Knowing your strong hands will be holding mine, caressing my skin... oh goodness, when I think of those beautiful, strong hands of yours!

I better stop this line of thinking or I'm going to have to plunge myself into the pool to cool off!

Just as I am deciding whether or not to flip over and tan my back for a while, I can sense someone stepping into my own little personal puddle of sunlight. If I were napping and just waking up, I would seriously believe that I'm dreaming. I look up...

... I gasp, "You're here!" as I launch myself off the chaise towards you.

"In the flesh, sweetness," you say as you spread your arms wide to catch me in your embrace.

As our arms wrap around one another, I plant my face in your chest, inhaling your scent as deeply as I can, missing your smell. That's one of the many small things I can't get from a phone call -- your distinctive smell.

Tucking your head down towards mine, you whisper gruffly in my ear, "That bathing suit is obscene."

Confused, I raise my head to gaze at your face as I utter, "But baby, this two piece suit is very conservative."

Your dark brown eyes twinkle mischievously as your long fingers glide up to hold my chin, "You could wear a parka and make it look obscene with that body of yours."

Now that I realize you're teasing me, I slide one of my arms down your back, to your waist, to your flanks... and give you a good pinch on that tight ass of yours.

"Hey! That's not fair!" you shout with a wounded look on your face as you reach behind yourself to rub your injured hindquarters.

"Yeah, well... you know me... I've never been one for playing fair." Childishly, I stick my tongue out at you. I hear a deep growl coming from you and in the next instant, you bring your face to mine and embrace my tongue with your warm lips, while the palms of your hands caress the sides of my face. I moan from the unexpected contact. Slowly the kiss develops more and more heat, the early evening sun still capable of adding some additional heat to our embrace.

You murmur, "My goddess, how do I stand being away from you for weeks at a time?"

I pull away reluctantly, trying to catch my breath. "Let's get up to the room and I'll take a quick shower and change for dinner."

You shake your head slowly, the sunlight glinting against the silver hair at your temples, "Oh no. You can change, but no shower. You step into a shower stall and we won't leave the room."

"But sweetie, I won't be long," I explain as I gather my drink, card key and cover-up.

"Maybe you won't... but I will," you continue in that wicked tone of yours, wiggling your eyebrows ala Groucho Marx for added effect, "besides we need to fortify ourselves first... we're gonna need our energy!"

I marvel at your eagerness, kissing you briefly before I walk away towards the elevators. "Ok, I'll meet you at Chin's bar in 20 minutes. The reservations are under my last name."

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Some 20 minutes later, as I approach the bar, I can see the overly slender, overly enhanced, overly blonde hostess smooth her hands along her overly slinky dress as she gives you the once-over. She doesn't appear to recognize you. That really shortened haircut of yours has thrown off a lot of people... and your new show is only barely one season old. Personally, I'm still trying to get used to it. But I can tell the hostess is quite taken by you, regardless of whether or not she knows who you are. Good thing I don't get jealous easily.

You are so handsome, knowing that you're with me makes me feel... I don't know... giddy... empowered... high? I mean, I know looks shouldn't matter. Your personality, sweetness and general laid-back attitude are all very important attributes that certainly made falling for you as easy as just falling for your looks. I don't think I could date just a pretty face. However, I must say in the looks department, well, you are stunning, truly stunning. To say that you are easy on the eyes is an understatement.

A beaming smile comes across your goatee'd face as you gaze up and catch me making my way over to you. You stand up from your bar stool as I bring my hand up to caress your cheek before kissing you on those wonderful lips of yours, framed by those deep dimples. It seems like ages since I've noticed other women appreciate you when we're together. It's a powerfully unsettling feeling to know that someone whose star is rising like yours is with someone like me, outside of your business.

But what truly floors me most of all is your apparent indifference to the attention women give you. Oh, you're wonderfully generous to your female fans, signing autographs and taking pictures. But you seem to be oblivious to how women react around you.

You lean into me, my delicate musky perfume mixing with your own cologne, filling the air we breath with our own distinctive combination, and you whisper wantonly, "First dinner here, then dessert in our room."

I can hardly believe what I'm hearing from you, such corny cliches, but coming from you with your slight accent, it's like you're reciting Robert Frost. You could recite the phone book and make it sound compelling, it's no wonder that you've narrated numerous films and television documentaries.

You're making me blush as you rake your eyes over me from head to toe. You would almost think that I'm the movie star and you the star-crossed fan. I laugh softly, shaking my head as I relish the fact that you've still got some lust for me in your blood after all this time together.

Your own scent, along with your body heat and your piercing gaze makes me practically light-headed as you slip your arm around my curvy waist and maneuver us to the cozy booth that the hostess has lead the way to. I lean into you with my own arm around your middle as we are placed at our table.

We make a conservative effort to maintain some level of decorum and try to listen to our poor waiter recite the evening's specials by holding hands and playing footsie under the long, elegant tablecloth. We just barely manage to order some wine without behaving like a couple of teenagers.

Once the wine has been brought to our table, we order the house special, the "Seventh Heaven." It was the dish my father served you when you first met my family. My father made a big fuss about cooking his specialty for you, his daughter's "movie actor boyfriend."

And as it arrives, this version looks fabulous. It's got all my favorite vegetables as well as your favorite seafood. It's a rainbow of beautifully bright sautéed vegetables and glistening fruit of the sea. When our waiter serves the entrée, he drops off two pairs of chopsticks. Somehow we must be thinking the same thing as we eye each other, each of us reaching for a pair of the chopsticks.

The entrée looks so tasty. I say, "Wow, a little of everything. This has all your tried and true favorites."

"Well... I've tried... and it's true... you're my favorite," you say to me with a warm smile that reaches those deep brown eyes of yours.

I can feel myself beginning to blush again... a grown woman blushing over comments said to her by her boyfriend! "Well then, they brought that too, didn't they?" I say softly, not able to look you in the eye.

"Yes," you reply huskily, "they certainly did."

I start to reach for a pair of the chopsticks again, but you manage to grab both pairs and slide one pair into the breast pocket of your tan suede sports coat.

You shake your head with an evil grin. "Nope. You don't get any."

I give you a somewhat annoyed look, "Baby, I'm starving!"

"I'll feed you, sweetness," you announce, smiling a brilliant smile at me as you pull the wrapper off the sticks.

Oh Goddess, I think to myself, so this is what he's up to. He's going to drive me right to the edge of Lustville, right here in a public place!

I can feel the blood rush in my ears... sounds like I've got a football stadium full of cheering fans screaming inside my head. I am certain that you and everyone else in the restaurant can hear.

I'm going to have to give myself a pep talk if I plan to survive this. Ok, girl, let's take some deep cleansing breaths, shall w?. You can do this. It's just dinner. Yeah, right! Who am I kidding?

Dinner with you is dangerous, just like talking on the phone or any other normal and not-usually sensual task. Leave it to you to bring out the erotic ability in anything. Was it this hot in here when we first sat down?

I remove my dark green jacket and place it next to me, while you remove your own jacket. Might as well get comfy if you're going to torture me. But so help me if you start rolling up your sleeves, I'll be done for. I take a large swallow of my wine, and finally say in a voice that sounds braver than I really feel, "Okay, feed me."

With that said, you turn so that we facing each other, as best we can in a booth. You pick up the chopsticks and deftly lift a mouthful's worth of sautéed baby corn to my lips.

I part my lips and close them over the red-lacquered wooden sticks. I close my eyes, inhaling the wondrous smells, savoring the gingery taste as I slowly pull the food off the chopsticks and into my mouth. I chew it slowly, sensuously enjoying the texture and taste of the food. When I opened my eyes again you are staring raptly at me. Your dark brown eyes are fixed on my mouth as I swallow.

I watch as you lick your full bottom lip and swallow hard, your Adam's apple bobbing right at the top of your dark olive linen shirt that's open at the neck. I smile inwardly as it appears that I've actually managed to turn the tables on you. Ah... the goddesses are on my side once again, for the moment at least.

I hold out my hand and you accept defeat. You reach over into your jacket and hand me the second pair of chopsticks.

"OK... you win... this time," you say grudgingly, yet unable to hide the smirk on your face.

I serve you up a bit of braised chicken. You feed me a piece of spicy tofu, and so on.

In between mouthfuls, you say, "You know what? This is really good... but it's not as good as your dad's. I really miss his cooking. I never saw a man who wasn't a professional chef seemed so at home in a kitchen."

I smile sadly. "Yeah, I can never eat Chinese food without thinking of how he would have prepared whatever dish I've ordered. It's always good, but never perfect like his."

You nod in agreement as you continue chewing and present another mouthful to me, resting between the chopsticks.

At one point during dinner, I catch you intently surveying the room. I raise an eyebrow at you as I watch you gather up a piece of broccoli and hold it out to me. I think I know what's going on through your mind, as I make note that no one is looking in our direction.

I bite into half the piece, but draw it from the chopsticks so that it hangs slightly out of my mouth. You grin faintly as you lean forward and nibble off the other half, but not before teasing my lips with an occasional nip here and there. Our faces are mere inches apart as we slowly chew our shared meal.

I slip the chopsticks out from between your long fingers and spear another baby corn on the cob, this time presenting it to you. You take it between your own lips and I then munch off the other half and manage to steal a kiss from you. Your empty hands rest on my lap, your thumbs making swirling designs on the material of my skirt, sending little shivers along my thighs, while I try to carry on and feed us. You don't make it easy.

We continue to take our sweet time, enjoying dinner and each other's company. We sit close to one another, talking, touching, and making promises with our bodies of things to come later, once we've got some real privacy. We hold hands after dinner as we sit there, talking, laughing while we finish our wine.

I lean over to you to hear some gossip about one of your recent guest stars and you place your warm fingers tenderly on the back of my neck. I slip out of one of my shoes and slowly drag my stockinged foot along the length of your calf.

As you pull me closer to you, you whisper gruffly against my lips, "Kiss me again."