The Benefits of Boring

As far as first dates go, especially blind dates, I guess you could say my date with Mark was hot. In every sense of the word.

I almost canceled when he called to confirm Saturday morning. Not without good reason, mind you. The weatherman had predicted record breaking heat wave temperatures-- temperatures that had been climbing slowly and steadily all week.

Secondly, well. I didn’t exactly trust Kate’s judgment when it came to men. However, she insisted that Mark was harmless.

"To the point of dull," my lifelong buddy had vowed. Which is what made me agree to meet him.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not dull. But I find that dull men are easy to control. Less chance of being hurt or used. Or dumped.

Since I'd been dumped two weeks prior and was still nursing my wounded pride, I thought a dull date with a dull man would be the perfect salve. Mark and I spoke the night before, which was a Friday night. This proved to me that the “dull” description was on target since he wasn’t out on a hot date with anyone. At least I knew I was home simply because being dumped ends you up in that position normally.

Anyway, Mark suggested we do something during the day, like go to a park or museum. I thought a public place in broad daylight would be safe- lots of people in earshot if he tried anything funny. His idea of a blind date was in keeping with the type of person Kate had described. Katie had said she’d only met him twice, at the opening reception of the town’s wildlife center and then again at a fund raising dinner for the center. He’d been polite, but not her type. He was too earthy for her, she had told me.

“Perfect for you,” she had said with an careless shrug.

So that Friday night I agreed to an 11 a.m. rendevouz and gave him directions to my apartment. His voice sounded deep, reflective and thankfully, dull. Just what I wanted.

At 11 a.m. sharp a black 4 x4 ute pulled up at the curb in front of my apartment. Not exactly a dull man’s vehicle. I would have expected a Volvo or maybe a station wagon. I peeked out through my lace curtains and watched as he shut his truck off, took a deep breath and smoothed his hair back. Then he looked at his watch, studied the house for a moment and then got out of his truck.

My heart skipped a beat as I watched him slowly unfold his long body from behind the drivers side door, the top of his head easily clearing the top of the vehicle once he stood up completely. I had to remind myself to breath. He was gorgeous. Clad in a light blue denim pullover shirt, dark blue Levi cutoff's and hiking boots, his dark brown hair pulled taut in a pony tail at his nape, all I could think was “I’m in trouble.”

He was everything I looked for in a man. I will tell you one thing for sure, even then I knew he was definitely not dull.

Introductions were a bit awkward, as expected with blind date introductions. I could feel his warmth as I held the screen door open for him and he entered, our bodies inches apart as he passed by me. We shook hands and I had to remind myself to release my hold on his warm, strong hand. I felt my body fever slightly as he gave my body a quick once over. Then he directed me to change my flat sandals to hiking boots, if I owned a pair.

When I asked why, his answer was simply, “We're going hiking.”

“In this heat?” I responded, a bit surprised.

“You’ll be fine.” was all he answered, the right corner of his mouth drawn up in a boyish lopsided grin.

I changed my clothes from a sleeveless sundress to a pair of khaki shorts, a white cotton sleeveless button down blouse, knee high socks and my boots. I threw my sneakers in the back of his truck in case we chose to change plans at the last minute.

“What about water?”

“Got it.”

“Where are we going?” I got a bit nervous as I buckled my seat belt.

Strange man, strange vehicle, no clue as to what my destiny held.

“There’s a county reserve out east just before the north fork. I’ve been wanting to check it out for a while. I hear there are some plovers and terns nesting there. And a pond stocked full of tiger salamanders.”

I just smiled and looked out the window. Earthy, not dull.

We walked for nearly two hours. I was parched, tired and a bit annoyed that Mark was so congenial while at the same time so controlling and assertive. Not to mention in shape, gorgeous and funny.

He was anything but dull.

We hiked side by side for most of the afternoon. If the paths got narrow I’d drop behind a step or two, staring at the backpack that carried a lunch he’d packed, bottles of water and a sheet- for lunching on, he had explained.

His shoulders were squared, his hips narrowed. His butt looked nice and firm. His legs were long and muscular, fitting snugly within his jeans. . Every now and then he’d pause abruptly to inform me of a rare plant, a type of tree. Or he’d hear a chirp or a peep and look in that direction, waiting silently, patiently. The noise would come again and he would smile and call out the breed of bird, studying the brush until his eyes fell upon the immobile feathered form.

When he spotted frogs he called out to me that water should be up ahead. And I believed him. It was a lovely creek, bubbling down a sloping bit of land, thick brush on both sides for a long while. He walked down river until we came to a grassy clearing. Here the late day sun fell warm and inviting across the river bank.

Mark stood on the riverbank for a few moments, listening to the gurgling water, reveling in the warm embrace of the sun on his forearms and face. I stood there silently, waiting patiently for him to finish communing, hoping it would come before I collapsed from thirst.

As if reading my mind he shrugged out of his back pack, tossing it to me before he squatted to study the dirt at his feet. “Deer watering hole,” he said as he looked up at me, squinting beneath the sun. “Cool,” I said, more interested in the contents of the backpack at the moment.

“Katherine said you were interested in conservation,” he said with a frown.

I had found the canteen and was pouring water down my throat as he spoke. I gulped and brought my head up right to stare at him. “What the hell would she tell you that for?”

He shrugged and grabbed the back pack out of my hands. “Let’s eat.”

I laid out the sheet, a grey clothe with geometric designs splattered in black and lavender and white. He pulled out a block of cheese, a small loaf of bread, water and what I guessed to be two mangoes. He had even brought napkins.

The block of cheese was consumed at his pace. He allowed me to do nothing but put food in my mouth. He ate like a human being, not a pig like every other male I dated. He dressed conservatively, but not as conservatively as my grandfather. He talked, but did not drone on endlessly. When he did speak, he didn’t ridicule me or make me feel inferior, even though it was becoming increasingly clear that Katherine had brought us together under false pretenses.

He told me numerous times Kate had said that I was interested in conservation.

She had told me he was dull. She lied on both accounts.

After the bread and cheese was finished Mark stood up and stretched, facing the river. I watched with curiosity as reached for his belt and unbuckled it. I froze, feeling almost like I was invisible, that I had disappeared. I watched, unmoving, silenced, as he shed his clothes, then stepped to the edge of the creek and waded in. When he was standing in water up to his waist Mark turned to me and waved me in.

I raised my eyebrows and shook my head. “No thanks,” and waved back.

He laughed and called out, “Katherine said you were a naturalist.”

I smiled and shook my head again. “Not in this lifetime.” I made a mental note to kill Kate when I got home.

“Why don’t you try it?” he took a step towards the shore.

I scooted to the far end of the blanket. “Nah.”

“You’d like it.” He took another step.

“I don’t think so.”

“I’ll close my eyes until you come in. then I'll open them and stay as far away as you decide you want me to stay.” He flashed that damn grin at me again.

I glared at him.

“I won’t bite.” He took another step, the water line now just below his belly button. I studied the smooth surface of his stomach and then I realized he was planning on walking towards me until I relented.

“STOP!” My voice sounded shrill and echoed through the forest.

He laughed and dove under the water surfacing even closer to the shore, kneeling. “Come in or I stand.” His voice was filled with laughter.

“This isn’t funny.”

“Well. This is one thing Katherine was right about.”

I frowned and studied him, waiting for him to continue. When he did it brought another shriek from me.

“She said you were a bit boring at times.”

He proved to be a man of his word, and kept his baby blues shut as I undressed and then slowly ventured out into the cold rushing river.

It was a sensual feeling, being in direct contact with the water. I was afraid of course, of little fishies swimming in places they should not be poking their fins. But he was quite confident that nothing was going to nibble on any of his appendages, so I forced myself to relax and just concentrate on not throwing myself at this man and taking him then and there.

We talked for a while, and again he kept his word on maintaining a five foot radius. Then he noticed his fingers were pruning, and he headed towards the shore.

“Um,” was all I could call out as more and more of his back appeared as the water line dipped lower and lower with his every step.

“You may have the sheet if you’d like.” He didn’t even turn round. I stared in disbelief until I laid my eyes on his nice firm butt. "Close your eyes," I directed as his laughter echoed across the river.

Moments later I sat huddled under the sheet, just as he promised. However, he sat naked and cross legged beside me, although he’d considerately placed the the nearly emptied back pack strategically in his lap.

The air around us was charged. My nipples ached and strained beneath the cool cotton veil of protection. My inner thighs were moist, but not from river water. I squirmed every now and then as my eyes studied his every move.

He carefully cupped one of the mangoes in his two bronzed smooth hands. The fruit, now warm and soft from being stored in Mark’s back pack all day, was plump and ripe and waiting to be devoured. I licked my lips as I watched him pull a small knife from the bag and make the first incision. The juices seeped over the thick mango skin and dribbled onto his thumb. I was mesmerized as he paused to lick the juice slowly from his flesh, before finishing the cut.

He glanced up only momentarily and caught my gaze and chuckled. In an instant more juice spilled out over the skin onto his thumb and he again paused.

“Messy,” was all he said as he chuckled softly.

I swallowed thickly, uneasy with the sensations stirring inside of me. How could watching him cut a piece of fruit effect me this way? I cleared my throat unable to speak, and just nodded.

“I like messy,” he added, little laugh lines formed at the corners of his eyes.

When he raised his thumb to my lips in offer, I gasped ever so softly, more like an inhale, for that was all I had strength to do. I wanted him.

It hit me like a blast of midday sun after stepping out of an air conditioned office. And then I did something so out of character for me. I raised my two hands slowly, grasped his thumb and lifted it to my lips. I licked the juice from his skin slowly, my tongue demanding every drop, my gaze prisoner to his.

He smiled a slow sultry smile, his blue eyes piercing my depths as he honed in on me. After my lips released his thumb, he raised it to his own mouth and sucked softly, his gaze never releasing his hold on my gaze.

After a moment he concentrated on the fruit in his hands. With his knife he drew criss cross patterns in the flesh fruit, never piercing through the skin to the outer side. When he was finished he used his thumbs to invert the skin and cubed fruit inside out, making the squares of fruit stick out for easy plucking. He pulled a diamond shaped cube from the skin and held it to my lips.

I grasped it between my teeth, then sucked on it, wrapping my lips around the juicy morsel. “This is good.” I said, never having tasted mango before.

“It gets better....” was all Mark offered.

He pulled another cube from the skin, feeding me again, which actually I preferred, because then it left me little opportunity to question what he’d meant by that last statement. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear anyway.

After the third square he had fed me I got daring and slipped an arm out from under the sheet to pinch a piece of fruit myself. With a smile I lifted the peach colored bit to his lips and grinned. “One good turn, eh?”

“I would love to give you a good turn. Was that an offer?”

My mouth opened, but nothing came out. I had intended on speaking, not kissing. But that is what he did. He kissed me. Deeply, hard. Long. Completely. I had never, ever been kissed so thoroughly before.

And I wanted more.

I felt the sheet slip away from my shoulders. I felt him nudge me onto my back. I felt my world spinning and my body temperature rising. As my body paralleled the ground i realized where the term “pushover” originated, and I giggled.

He paused at the sound and I opened my eyes to find him staring at my face.

“What?” I asked with a bit of hesitation.

“I want to devour your entire body just as we have finished that bit of mango.”

“Oh.” That was all I could muster.

Sitting back on his haunches Mark leaned over and picked up the emptied mango skin. He looked at me, a devilish gleam dancing in his blue eyes.

He gently pulled away the sheet, exposing the naked flesh of my breasts. He placed the cool cup of the mango skin on my heated flesh, and I gasped at the hot on cold sensation. He smiled wider then leaned over and picked up the second half of the fruit, taking his time to slice the flesh in the same fashion he had the first one. He removed nearly all the squares, placing them strategically on my belly and my thighs. Then, crushing the last few squares of juicy mango flesh within the cupped fruit skin, he dribbled the juice across my neck, down the valley between my breasts, around my quivering belly button, downward, over my Mound of Venus, to the nest of hair that curled and protected the most delicate and sensitive part of my being.

I was too shocked to say anything. I wasn’t afraid. I wasn’t nervous. I definitely wasn’t bored. But nevertheless, I was shocked. He flipped the cup inside out and brought the fruit to my mouth. He slipped his free hand under my head and lifted it ever so gently. “Eat this. I want to taste the juice on every inch of skin you possess. ” he whispered.

I moaned softly and obeyed him, ripping the torn flesh from the mango skin gently with my teeth.

When I completed the task he leaned over and thrust his tongue deep into my mouth, searching, raping, eating me, just as he vowed earlier. It was good to see he was a man of his word.

He took the second mango skin, inverted it and placed it on my naked breast. I was torn between laughing at the site, cringing with embarrassment or sighing in ecstasy as he gently cupped a hand over each skin and gently pressed and twisted them against my flesh. Sticky. Wet. Slippery. Cold. It was my undoing.

“Messy,” he said, as if reading my mind, as he grinned and dipped his head, kissing me on the nose. Then he set to work, silencing me with another kiss as I opened my mouth to speak. He dipped his head lower, to the base of my neck and I sighed softly as his tongue traveled the now invisible path of mango juice he’d laid earlier.

His hands caressed my arms, my sides, my hips my thighs, then back up to cup my head again as he tried to pull my face closer if possible to his. He left me breathless. Weak. Wanting more than just his tongue inside of my mouth.

He gave each mango skin one final slow twist, making my hardened nipples itch to be sucked on, and then he removed them, tossing them to the blanket. He reached up behind his head, removing the band holding his hair in a ponytail. His curly brown hair fell around his face, his neck and shoulders, reaching just below his shoulders.

His tongue began a languorous stroll doing a full circle around the base of my left breast. His curls tickled my skin. His left hand moved slowly from my right breast, which he kneaded and tweaked and pulled. His fingers trailed over my ribs, my belly, to my hips, my thighs- every where but where I needed him most at that moment.

My sunwarmed body writhed beneath him, his teeth tugging at my nipple, his tongue licking hard at the little pearl like stubble. I moaned softly, whispering softly, calling out his name, kissing the top of his head as he continued to concentrate on my breast. I knew if he kept it up I’d come from this alone.

The tension was coiling inside of me, ready to explode like the rapids upstream were at the very moment. And as I moved beneath him, arching my hips in his direction he straddled me. I exhaled loudly, knowing that sweet relief was on its way. He continued to nibble on my nipple, his fingers played over my skin, working lower and lower until I felt him part my lips and slip inside of me. He pinched my clitoris with his thumb and the base of his forefinger, making me writhe even more uncontrollably than I already was. Then he slipped a second finger in, working the two back and forth, searching, moving, molding against my insides. And then he he paused, his finger rubbing slowly on the wall behind my clitoris. He rubbed and rubbed again, slow methodical movements as he continued to torture me with his teeth on my breast.

That familiar itching feeling grew deep inside of me; a swelling, a glorious itching/swelling, that stole my breath and made me want to take him then and there. “Make love to me,” I begged him, grabbing his face and forcing him to look up into my eyes. “Please..”

Biting his lower lip, holding back a triumphant grin, he held up the mango. “Soon.”

He sat up and took my left hand, and placed it on my breast. “Squeeze,” he instructed me. “Touch yourself or I will not pleasure you anymore.”

I studied him in bewilderment. “But.. but I ... “ He shook his head and grabbed his jeans and looked back once again, tossing the mango nonchalantly in the air with one hand as he waited for me to respond.

I covered my breast with my hand, squeezing softly, kneading the soft mound of flesh. I’d touched myself before, but never under anyone’s direction.

I was suddenly very shy.

“Very good,” he purred, moving my other hand to rest in the curls between my legs. He singled out two of my fingers, parting my lips and placing my fingertips between the moist warm folds of skin. I looked up at him, into his eyes, “Do it.” His voice was a whisper.

With deep fascination he watched my fingers work themselves in and out of the tiny, wet opening.

“Deeper,” he instructed, moving my fingers lower so I would have no excuse not to accommodate his wishes. My body blushed as I felt myself respond. I closed my eyes, licked my lips and gyrated my hips, wondering when in the world he was going to fuck me finally.

Just as I teetered on the brink of ecstasy I felt him still my fingers, remove my hands. He bent his head forward, His hair tickling my thighs as he proceeded to kiss me. His thumbs parted my lips, and his tongue zeroed in on my clit, lightly at first, then his finger slipped inside of me, rubbing that spot again until I was once again ready to scream out in agony for him to take me.

When he stopped again I almost wept. “What are you doing!? “ I asked, hysteria evident in my voice. He held up a long thick newly cut slice from the second mango.