Saved for Another Day

For the sake of her personal confidence and satisfaction, she purposely considered herself a woman of class and consequence while she sat twiddling the black straw protruding beyond the lip of her water glass between her fingers.

Focus! she thought to herself and almost said it aloud. Maybe she did whisper it lightly, but no one could have heard. On what she must focus she couldn't have said specifically, only that she did not feel in control of the current and varied pathways her mind wandered along - five or six simultaneously and many of them contrary to her directed attempts at poise and appropriate demeanor, whatever that was.

She sat with her back to the wall at a table in the far corner of the restaurant, facing the door. She regularly questioned her decision to face the door because, while she would know when he entered and not be startled, and she ALWAYS preferred to have her back to the wall as if the world meant to stab her in it, she would also see the recognition register on his face as soon as his eyes met hers, and the anticipation of that moment made her feel a little sick in her stomach.

The thoughts that flitted through her mind were diverse and quick, hard to pin down. One was, "What if he insists on paying for my food?" and another was, "I wonder if I messed up my eyebrows when I rubbed my forehead a minute ago," and still another, "What if I don't look in person the way I look in pictures and he doesn't even recognize me at all?" She was thinking, "Do I need to buy eggs when I go to the grocery store later, or do I have enough left to last until next week?" when she looked up in time to see him push through the door and look straight toward her immediately upon entering.

Her breath caught in her throat and she caught his gaze, held it for a few seconds. Five actually. She counted - not because it mattered but because she often counted things for little reason at all. Five and she broke away and looked down at her napkin, reaching to wipe away invisible water from the tips of her fingers. When she forced herself to look up again, blushing and trying to pretend she wasn't, he had crossed half the distance to her table, and he was smiling. She took that as a good sign because it seemed a truly genuine smile, not the kind of smile you flash because you know you're supposed to smile, but the kind that comes out when you couldn't really hold it in if you wanted to! A wonderful kind of smile, even more genuine than in pictures she'd seen of him - because it's much easier to smile a real smile directed at a person than at a camera phone!

She wasn't sure if she should stand and shake his hand, sit and wait for him to join her... so she half-stood and extended her hand halfway across the table as he reached its corner. He took her hand in his, but rather than shake, he continued to hold it while he made his way around the small table to her side and enveloped her in a hug, forcing her to come to a full stand to prevent it from feeling awkward. This was not a side-hug like you give to the old men at church but a full-on hug like you give to your grandfather on Christmas, and she took this as a good sign as well. She added this to her collection of 'good signs' making the current count two and bad signs zero.

He remained silent as he took his seat across from her, letting go of her hand as he sat. She returned to her seat as well, and in the silence she thought, "He spoke not a word..." so that her mind began to fill lines of the old Clement Moore poem. "He spoke not a word but went straight to his work, filled all his stockings, and turned with a jerk..."

As soon as her brain reached the word stockings, a full flush crept up her neck, and she moved her gaze from his face to her glass, grabbing at her straw and twirling it around with her right thumb and index finger. Then he spoke, "It's good to see you. I've looked forward to this all day." He sounded as if he really meant it. She looked up and met his eyes... greener than in pictures, a shade of green she'd rarely seen in eyes. They seemed to change depending on the direction the light hit them in pictures, and she tilted her head and turned it to the side, keeping his gaze, looking for that color change. None of this was a conscious decision of course. She just did it, and then she felt silly for having done it when she realized. A blush joined her flush when he tilted his head to meet hers, and the increase in her reddening response to his presence reminded her of her original cause for changing color... stockings.

It was a topic they'd discussed before, and the thought made her feel exposed and excited all at once, though he couldn't have known why. She'd dressed for him. Stockings... as they'd discussed. Ones she purchased just for this occasion. They were black with elasticized lace at the tops, thigh-high and nearly opaque, and she wore them with a grey mini-skirt, a few inches above the knee, and boots with a considerable heel. She'd thought this out carefully, and she was thinking about it again now, how she'd planned every aspect of her wardrobe and accessories as if she were meeting him for an intimate tryst rather than an introductory luncheon.

The contrast of the nervousness in her belly to the intimacy of their correspondence prior to this meeting struck her, and she wondered if he felt the same, or even if she perhaps failed him somehow by not being as talkative in person as she was behind a keyboard. She marveled at the paradox - having dressed for him with such risque thoughts in mind but finding herself so rattled in person that she feared his reaction at noticing the heel of her boot or the fact that she was wearing a skirt. Had she tried too hard? Not enough? Did that even matter?

It wasn't worry so much as a fun kind of tingling in her stomach to accompany a cacophony of thoughts tumbling through her mind. An excitement that kept her on pins and needles. She found she liked it, all the while blushing, now more BECAUSE she liked it so much. She hoped in the dimmed restaurant lighting her couldn't detect how deeply reddened her cheeks had become. It felt as if it had spread even to her ears now, as the lobes seemed to burn against the metal of her earring hoops poking through them, a sensation that was entirely new to her, not the sort of thing you normally FEEL.

She found herself wondering what went through his mind in those moments. He seemed to be studying her, and then he was studying the menu. She in turn studied hers, but she had no idea what she read there because she continued thinking about painting her toenails that morning, how she normally sent him a quick photo of the new color but today had refrained. They were a deep maroon color. She had chosen the boots with a higher heel because they made her feel more sexy and elongated her already long legs. The stockings were entirely for him, just for him. Normally she'd have her legs bare, but she felt... desireable with the silky material lying snuggly against her legs, stopping at her thighs, leaving everything else underneath her skirt completely... bare. Completely bare!

She wriggled a bit in her chair, allowing her thighs to brush against one another so that she could feel the lace against lace and, higher up, smooth skin against skin... and even higher up, a silky, wet tingle as her sensitive labia collided gently. That sensation startled her, as she hadn't even realized her level of arousal, though she knew well the source. He was sitting right across from her. When she looked up again, he was staring right at her, studying her.

Say something! her inner voice demanded of her, and somehow she managed to squeeze out a soft, "Know what you want?" Somehow it sounded so much more suggestive than she'd intended, and the green of his eyes seemed to darken a shade. His nostrils flared slightly.

She knew what he was going to say before his lips parted, and it would be oh so terribly cliche, but she wanted to hear it just the same. He reached his hand toward her as he spoke and brought it to rest atop hers on the table. "You."

For a moment she forgot to breathe, and then, feeling stupid, she choked out a nonchalant, "To eat..." Oh heaven. That sounded even worse!

He grinned this time! "You!" He whispered it in a determined voice and grabbed her hand, pulled it to his lips and placed a kiss across her knuckles. For a moment she thought she might faint, but fainting was not something she did! She reminded herself to breathe. In. Out. In. Out. She counted... five ins, five outs... before she looked at him.

It seemed very important what she said next, so her mind struggled for a reply. Nervous, jittery, aroused and content all at once, she said, "You can have me... for dessert?" It sounded so suave in her head before she said it but so scripted and shy, almost like a question, when she spoke the words out loud. All the same, she smiled and he smiled back, while her heart beat so hard in her chest she thought it would burst through her sternum and drench the table in blood. That would probably cross a line. He probably wasn't into blood bath sex.

She laughed at the macabre, absurd idea of the table covered in blood. He smiled, a questioning look in his eye, but she couldn't really explain the laughter. What a strange thing it would be to say, "Oh I was just thinking that you made my heart beat so fast I thought it would burst through my chest and cover the table in blood, and when I thought of the table covered in my blood, I thought of us having sex on it, in my blood, and how odd and macabre and ridiculously disgusting that would be, and that... made me laugh." Not really something you say to someone you've just met for the first time face-to-face.

She tried to reign her grin in to something more demure and think of polite dinner conversation. She found something to order from the menu, ate as much of it as she could manage when it arrived. She listened to him talk about work, books, chatter on, and she drank in his words, being a natural listener. Here and there she interjected and told her own stories, and the flow of the conversation eased their postures until they both sat in a relaxed slight-slouch, leaning forward, mirroring one another's movements subconsciously. All classically good signs, but she missed them because she was so engaged in the interaction.

Seeing a light flash on her phone laying on the table next to her glass, she picked it up to find a missed call from her mother and saw the time. It was nearly time for them to leave. She felt a clenching in her chest and stomach at the thought. Was it strange to miss someone before you had even parted ways?

When they left the restaurant, he followed her to her car, and they stood there a few seconds in awkward silence. Hug... kiss? Shake hands? Before she could wonder any long, he enveloped her again. His long arms wrapped fully around her and made her feel enclosed in a cocoon, and he moved while he hugged, his hands roaming up and down her back, around her sides, up to her shoulders and back again. She couldn't help mimicking the gestures, caressing his back to feel the strength of the muscles there aside the bony protrusions of his vertebrae.

He signed, even moaned a little, and pulled her even closer. He allowed his hands to roam further south, almost too risque for a public hug, and he pulled her hips toward him. She thought she felt something hard pressing against her abdomen but surely... he didn't have an erection... not just from hugging her? Curiously she pressed herself against him more firmly and became more convinced that he was at least partially aroused. Had her face not been buried against his shoulder, he would have seen such surprise registered there.

Suddenly he pulled away, and she felt a pang in her chest, knowing he was about to go. She doubted he would kiss her. Despite the heat of their email and even a few spicy telephone conversations, she had stressed slow-going, and she knew no matter how much she secretly burned with desire, craving the feel of his lips against hers, he wouldn't initiate that contact, and she wouldn't go against her previously expressed wishes, not this first time.

"Hug me again. Please," she requested, and he acquiesced. This hug was firmer and more finite, rougher. It felt hungry and sad but amazingly alive. She could feel the moment he was about to pull away, and she grabbed his left hand with her right.

So nervous she trembled slightly, she pulled his arm toward the hem of her soft grey skirt where it met with her right thigh. She looked into his eyes while she slowly pressed his fingers against the silky material of her stocking and pushed them up her leg until they met with the lace at the top, further until he found the top of the lace. His lips parted and he moved his right hand to her left thigh, mimicking her gesture.

He caressed her outer thighs underneath her skirt, bending his back so that he didn't pull it up too far and expose her to the world, even though no one was around to see. She wondered if he would press far enough to discover her final secret, that nothing at all was above those stockings. Would he?

It seemed as if he were asking himself the same question, perhaps wondering if she'd allow him the liberty. Daring, she grasped his hands, the fabric of her skirt caught between his and hers, and pushed them further upward, forcing the skirt up to expose the tops of her stockings, so far that her buttocks nearly peeked out beneath the hem at the back. He pressed her up against her car, trapping the back of her skirt safely there, as his hands met with the flesh of her hips. His fingers spread, searched, and she saw the realization register in his eyes and countenance.

He grinned. "You did that for me?" It was something they'd discussed but she'd never promised to act out.

She nodded and smiled in return.

"You are so sexy." He whispered it against her right ear. She felt his breath brush against her hair and skin, hot and heavy.

"Thank you," she whispered in return.

"No... thank you." He removed his hands.

She smoothed her skirt. They entered their respective vehicles, shared a smile and a wave and drove away. So much left to fantasy, anticipated, saved for another day.