Jack's First Date

This one, he declared, would be normal. No perversions, no floggers and cuffs and dark corners in clubs where the screaming was louder than the music. Just a plain, sweet romance, man and woman and a bed with clean sheets (maybe a couch if they were feeling adventurous). Before the first date he gave himself a pep talk. "You can do this, Jack, you can romance her just like a normal man. Take it slow, hand on her back but not too far down, polite and not possessive."

That was his phrase for the evening. When the bangles on her delicate wrists rang against each other and he saw himself binding her, wrapping the rope through and around them until they left marks, he said, "polite, not possessive." When he saw the brown curls touching her neck, and had a flash fantasy of closing his hand around it, he muttered "polite, not possessive," and banished the image. When she decided to walk home, he politely (insistently, not possessively) took her elbow. "You'll drive home with me," he said, "these streets are not safe after dark."

She looked up at him through her lashes, a mocking tilt to her lips, and said, "Yes, sir."

The words hit him like a punch, and he had to pause a moment to rally all of his control. He was saying it like a mantra now, "polite, polite, polite" until it lost all meaning. He dropped her off at her apartment, spun around before they could start the confusing dance of the good night kiss, and raced home.

Once home, Jack kicked himself over a glass of Tennessee whiskey. "Jack, listen to me," he said (he had picked up a bad habit of arguing with himself in ten years of living alone, for want of anyone else to argue with). "She's not in your world, and you have no right fantasizing about her that way. For all you know, she would find it creepy. So that's the end of it."

On the second date the temptation was worse. Her blunt wit stoked a deep desire to seduce the words right out of her, and he wanted to suck and bite the mocking tilt from her lips. He acted on none of this, instead bantering with her and touching her only when she first touched him.

At the end of the evening he took her again to her apartment and hovered on the doorstep waiting for her to find her keys. He didn't like the neighborhood where she lived and wasn't about to leave until he'd seen the door lock behind her. After a moment Emily gave up on the keys and looked up at him, eyes bright with some scheme. "Jack," she whispered, out of lips as tempting as apples and red as poison, "why don't you kiss me?"

Jack touched her face, gently cupped her cheek, and leaned in for a soft, open-mouthed kiss. Everything he had read women wanted men to do in a kiss – one hand on her cheek, the other on her waist, and the slow, sweet caresses of her lips. He had told himself exactly how this would go, had studied up for this moment, and executed it perfectly.

When he was done, Emily's eyebrows came together and she touched her lips pensively. "Thank you, Jack," she said, and finally found her keys and slipped inside without looking him in the eyes.

At their next date Jack decided to address this as bluntly as she usually would. After the appetizers, while waiting for dinner, he said, "Emily, what kind of kiss is it that makes you frown?"

"It was a very nice kiss," she said.

"I don't believe you," said Jack. "My kissing has never confused a woman before. I expect racing hearts, weak knees, maybe hands grabbing my arms for support, thready breathing . . . not furrowed brows."

Emily looked away. "There was none of that," she said.

Jack growled impatiently. "Yes, I know, that's what I just said."

Emily hesitantly met his eyes. "There never is any of that, for me. I mean, kissing is nice, but aren't there supposed to be sparks? I've never felt them. It certainly isn't your fault, it's just . . . the way I am. I am sorry that you had to find out like this, so soon."

Jack's heart began to pound, his vision focused on those red lips. He loved her pin-up style makeup, and he wanted to make out until that red lipstick was all over her face and his. "So what does kissing feel like, to you?" he asked softly.

"A pleasant sensation," she said, "with little or no emotional response, even in long-term relationships."

Jack could barely wait to finish dinner. He helped her on with her coat, and with a hand lightly on her back hurried her into his car. Once there he brushed her hands away and covered her body with his to buckle her seat belt. While he was pressing against her, he whispered into her ear, "Tonight we're going to my place for a drink before I take you home."

Emily looked surprised and seemed about to protest when he covered her mouth gently with his hand. "No fear," he said. "You can leave whenever you like."

He peeled out of the parking lot and made amazing time to his place. He pulled in with his heart still racing, almost dropped his keys and managed to get the both of them inside and lock the door. Once in he took her coat and gathered himself while hanging it up. Then he turned back to Emily.

She was standing frozen in his entryway, unsure of what to do now. Jack was about to give her something to do. He used his height and weight to tower over her, stepping in just a little too close so that she had to back up against the wall. Then he slid his hand into the hair at the nape of her neck, leaned in close, and slowly closed a fist in her hair, holding her head back as he lowered his lips to hers. "Don't move," he whispered before he plunged his tongue between her lips. No preliminaries, just the slow fucking of her mouth and the tight hand in her hair so she couldn't turn away.

After a few moments Emily's knees buckled and Jack grabbed her shoulders and pressed her into the wall to steady her. Then he resumed his exploration of her mouth, this time biting those luscious lips just hard enough to make her squirm. He could feel her heart speeding up, her breath coming unevenly. When he knew her mind was blank, he drew back and set her on her feet.

"You said you never feel anything when kissing," he said. "That was an experiment. Tell me, what did you feel?"

Emily's voice was low and purring when she managed to speak. "Yes," she said. "Yes, more."

Jack leaned in to her again, this time closing his hand around the back of her neck and caressing her jaw with his thumb. He leaned his head in close, breath hot on her ear until she shivered, and said, "Ask politely."

Emily swallowed. "More, please," she whispered.

"Almost," said Jack. "Ask again, but this time call me sir."

Emily squirmed a little, embarrassment setting in, but his body was there, pinning her, his eyes piercing into hers. "More, please . . . sir," she said.

"Good girl," said Jack, and he kissed her senseless.