Pavlovian Reaction

I wanted to say yes after the first few words she said. Technically, I wanted to say yes before she even started talking, I wanted to take her face between my hands and shout at it "YES. SETTING. SURE. YES." but instead I opted for a smile and a yes, maybe accompanied by a nod and some mumbled words. She gave me her number, and I left.

I was sure that a there was a steady amount of steam coming out from my body as I walked home. My euphoria had lessened after the realization that, again, women do drink coffee without it being considered a date, and that nothing in her manner suggested of it being sexual, even the supposed shyness that I noticed wasn't unusual for the start of an informal friendship. My feelings about her were mixed; I was definitely attracted to her, definitely wanted to fuck her, and I loved talking to her, but my excitement wasn't purely sexual. It wasn't that feeling you get when you're hot for someone and you're just waiting to see whether something will happen.

Sure, that was a part of how I felt, but it was mixed with that feeling of my chest tightening and my stomach turning whenever she moved closer, or smiled at something I said. These emotions weren't new to me. However, I was used to those emotions being directed at someone my age, so I was unsure of how to act and feel now. Whenever I was in love before, I ended up being with that girl, so I never had to suffer the bad side of those feelings for long. The woman in question now was an actual, grown-up, mature woman.

What would she even think if she knew how I felt? Besides, I wasn't ignorant of the fact that the strength of my emotions was partially due to how rare of a specimen Vallory was in my life. I had met older women who looked as good as her, ones as smart as her, well-mannered as her, but never in the same package and never did I think that they weren't straight. This whole thing felt new and confusing, and all my previous experience felt worthless.

Part of me also felt like a disrespectful idiot for thinking about her that way. The disrespectful part came from her age. There was really no way for me to stop myself from thinking about someone looking at my mother that way, when she didn't want them to. That reignited my curiosity about Vallory's age. I thought about how I could find that out, decided to ask Pris if she knew, sent her a message, and continued to feel bad.

***

"Actually yeah I do know. One of the guys from the meeting knew, don't remember where he heard though, he might have even asked her. She's 44 if his info's good," Pris responded belatedly to my question the next day. Well at least she wasn't older than my mother. I was feeling better about meeting her for coffee, I stopped feeling like a pervert and could now simply be excited about seeing her. I'm not entirely sure how I managed to have enough courage to send Vallory a text to the number she gave me after our appointment. I'd only rewritten it 9 times and spent over 20 minutes contemplating about how it sounded before sending; only to realize that I somehow managed to overlook a typo.

In the text, I had told her that I was free the next two days practically whenever. That was a lie, I had a grand total of 10 hours of classes in those two days. Also that I wasn't sure what my schedule was after that. That was also a lie; I had a pretty good idea, but I hoped that it would motivate her to see me in those two days, if she was free. She replied that she was, and whether 7 p.m. tomorrow was fine for me. I said yes, and she told me that, if I didn't mind, she already picked out a place where we could go, unless I decided that I was in the mood for food when we met.

First, I was tempted to ask whether someone her age should be drinking coffee that late in the day. Then I was tempted to fake surprise at the fact that a female picked out a place to go before you even asked her, and before going through a few "oh, wherever you want to go" followed by refusals of places you suggested. But hey, that's just one of the perks of going out with someone almost your mother's age. Well, to be absolutely fair, almost my father's age, too, since he was just a few months older than my mother - high school sweethearts and all that.

Again, I had to spend a whole day waiting to meet her and doing whatever to keep myself occupied. I decided that a very good way to pass time was to sleep. So I got a nice, refreshing, 12 hours of sleep that night and woke up completely disoriented. She told me to meet her at one of the busier pedestrian streets in town and that we would decide what we were in the mood for. I liked how she just told me where and when to meet her. I just agreed to whatever she said, and that was much easier than trying to pick a time after negotiating. This way she suggested, and I either agreed or disagreed, and I wasn't inclined to disagree.

I realized that a good part of the remaining time before we were supposed to meet would be spent in me deciding what to wear. Time flies when you're a woman without an outfit. Good thing I didn't have a lot of clothes to choose from -- the only pants I had were either black or dark red, so there wasn't a lot of choice there, I just mostly focused on whether I should wear a black, sleeveless t-shirt with a shirt over it, or a normal t-shirt with a hoodie. I really couldn't decide how formal to be. In the end I decided on red pants, and a black t-shirt, black shirt combo that looked like I put some effort into choosing my outfit, but not that I was desperate while doing so (the pile of shirts and t-shirts that I had tried on was on my bed, testifying to exactly how desperate I was). After that came the slightly easier part of choosing what to do with my hair since I only had two real choices. I could either wear it in a tight bun, or let it loose.

After some consideration, I decided to wear it in a bun, partially because by now I had ruffled it up so much that it didn't look the way I wanted it to when I let it down. It took some effort to put my now ruffled mane into the bun I wanted. I briefly wondered whether I should put on some makeup or not. Even if I did put makeup on it'd be in a small amount, and probably wouldn't include more than a bit of mascara and some tactically placed concealer. I decided that I was already uncomfortable about seeming like I 'tried too hard' (apparently not dressing like one pair of jeans and three t-shirts were all I had in my wardrobe was seen as 'trying too hard' in my eyes).

It was unusually cold outside, when compared to the previous few days at least, but not so much that a jacket wasn't enough to keep you warm. I decided to walk to where we were supposed to meet, so I even had to take my jacket off at some point. I looked at my phone, saw that I should arrive exactly on time, and that I had no new notifications worth paying attention to. The traffic and people walking by were enough of a distraction, so I didn't get a chance to start feeling anxious. I wondered whether she was waiting for me already, or if I would need to wait for her.

It turned out that neither of those would be the case. I saw her walking towards the spot where we agreed to meet as I approached it myself, we were both right on time and we acknowledged it with a smile. I realized that I had no idea how to greet her when we did reach each other. A handshake seemed too formal, a hug too informal, so I hoped that she would decide for me. Again, neither of those two was the case, we met and she placed her hand slightly below my shoulder and squeezed, exchanging some greeting with me, after which she gently pushed me and nodded in the direction where she wanted me to go, falling in line next to me. Huh, perfectly in the middle of the two options that came to my mind, she truly was a professional. Or maybe she, unlike me, simply wasn't socially retarded.

She asked whether I was in the mood for that scheduled coffee or something else. I said coffee and followed her lead. We walked for half an hour until we reached the place she had chosen for us. In the meantime, we talked about nothing in particular, my classes, whether the other appointments went well, the other non-profit programs she worked on, etc. I couldn't help wondering what she did to actually earn a living. All I'd heard about her work was non-profit and seemed more like a hobby she really liked. I mean, sure she was older, but not retired yet; that was my assumption at least. Oh, boy would it be fun to say that I went on a date with a retiree. Then I remembered that this wasn't a date, at least not officially, and that I needn't worry about dating a retiree yet.

We entered the living room looking café that she chose, I didn't pay attention to the name, and she motioned for me to climb an inconspicuous set of stairs on the right. Which was where I would have gone anyway, since the entire ground level was full. The café was organized in such a way that there was quite some space between tables, and every table had at least one couch. The space wasn't that big altogether, and at least twice as many tables could have been fitted in if they crammed them close together like most coffee places. The room was well-lit with warm, yellow light and some pink accents in places. Everything that could be made out of dark wood was made out of dark wood. Behind the counter were a whole bunch of coffee varieties that I knew nothing about and really hoped that I didn't need to actually choose one of them on my own.

I climbed the spiral wooden stairs, internally regretting that I didn't let her go first, but I couldn't exactly stop now and ask her to switch places with me so that I could take a look at her ass up close. I could only hope that she'd enjoy the view of mine.

The upper floor was full as well, and I felt disappointed. I was certain that she made sure that there was room here. I wasn't in the mood to go back outside and walk some more, I wanted to sit and talk. This floor had a similar layout to the one below, the tables further apart than usual, one whole wall replaced with windows. This floor even had a small fireplace in one corner, but it didn't have its own counter, so I supposed that the waiters had to go up the stairs every time. I moved to the side of the stairs to give Vallory room to come up too, and waited to hear what she would say. She didn't say anything, she just proceeded to the opposite wall, and I followed.

She opened a door saying "Employees Only", which was the same dark brown color as the wall. She kept it open for me until I caught up with her and she climbed another small set of stairs there, surrounded by a bunch of boxes and tools. She reached the top of the short flight of stairs, where a door was open, and led into another room, very similar in décor and layout to the ones below it but smaller. There were only two tables, and around one of them was an angled, dark-leather couch, big enough for six people as far as I could tell. The other had three sofas, two on the longer and one on the shorter side, and the same layout was true for three chairs on the empty sides. There was a small bar with a sink surrounded by glasses of all sizes, and a counter made from the same dark wood as the rest of the furniture.

Vallory didn't turn to see my reaction as I walked in, and instead walked to the counter, reached underneath it's top part, apparently flicked a switch or two and a few behind-the-furniture LED strips lit up, one set under the counter itself, and another behind a glass display.

She smiled, started taking off her coat, and said, "I'll explain what we're doing here as soon as we get comfortable, do you by any chance have a preferred type of coffee that you order?"

I shook my head, adding that I usually had whatever the person next to me had. She asked whether I would in that case allow her to order something for me. This was probably the best thing she could have said. I was almost incapable of talking to waiters when I came to a new place, especially when I didn't have my order rehearsed and ready. I took my jacket off and looked around for where to hang it. She came up to me, took the jacket from me and tossed both it and her coat over one of the sofas on the smaller table and motioned for me to sit at the larger one, the one with the angled couch. I did as she told me, sat on one side of the couch, propped myself up with one of the half dozen pillows there, and got really comfortable, really quickly. Then I remembered who I was with and that we were together in a very cozy room, very much alone. I also remembered that I should in fact be nervous as hell, and I promptly became so.

Vallory, in the meantime, went to the bar and sink, took two large glasses, filled them with water, and carried them back to the table where I had placed myself. She placed one in front of me, and the other in front of where she sat a few seconds later.

I must have looked either confused or lost, because she smiled and said, "A friend of mine owns this place. This room here was designated exclusively as sort of living room that only we and our friends could use. So we're not intruding on anybody, don't worry. Besides, the waiters here appear to be very fond of me, or at least they must be in order to climb up to here without complaining. I at least try and order everything at once and spare them any unnecessary trips." She smiled, and I felt a phantom hand on my knee. I resisted the urge to look down and check whether her hand was actually there. Seeing how both of her hands were visibly on the table, I decided that, most likely, her hand wasn't on my knee.

I heard the door at the base of the stairs open, followed by footsteps. A young, well-groomed man came in, wearing a brown apron. He greeted Vallory with a smile, asked her how she was doing, and after a short chat about her well-being and his turned to me, nodding in acknowledgement of my existence. He then turned to Vallory again, asking what he could get for the two of us. She ordered whatever 'the usual' was for her and something starting with 'Ma-' for me. I didn't understand what she said then, and still have no idea what the drink is called. She also added that he should bring up whatever dessert he thought was best today, anything without fruit in it, at his own leisure. He nodded, spoke a few more words with her and left. Or, rather, he started to leave, until she asked him whether he'd mind closing the door behind him.

I felt a strong, but pleasant surge of energy flow through my body, starting from somewhere under my breasts and spreading everywhere, concentrating on a few places more than others. My body was already looking forward to her touching it. I decided to try and distract myself from that train of thought.

Since my eyes were fixed on my glass ever since she'd said what she'd said, I had to look up at her always unreadable face, before saying, "So what was that thing you ordered for me? I don't think I ever heard of it before."

It took some effort not to stutter while saying this. I hadn't had the chance to look at her properly until then. I wasn't sure whether she was simply that beautiful or the light was doing something to her features, but I felt my heart pound almost painfully hard during the entire time I was looking at her. So hard even that I didn't notice that I was already wet, just from her asking someone to close the door. There was really no way to convince my body that she didn't have any not-entirely-friendly intentions when she decided to invite me here. The only thing more private than that room would have been an actual hotel room.

"Just something that I thought you might like. Honestly there's nothing not to like about it, it's probably the most reliable 'new' thing to suggest to someone." Her posture was more relaxed than usual. She had one elbow on the edge of the couch, leaning on that side slightly. She was wearing a sweater similar to the one she wore the last time we met, just as elegant as the last one, as much as a sweater can be elegant anyway, and black pants, again. I could see that they were different from the last two pairs I had seen her in, these seemed to have leather highlights on them. They suited her unusually well, given that I've only seen them worn by girls less than half her age.

I hoped that she would keep talking. I felt incapable of finding anything to talk about if she didn't, and that never happened. I realized that she was just as capable of reading my expression as she was when we met, and if she noticed a slight irritation in my face then, there was no way that she missed the blush in my cheeks... even with the light being as dim as it was. If she knew what she was doing to me, how much effort it took for me to sit there, with my hands around my glass of water, and not just grab her by that same elegant sweater of hers... If she knew, and still didn't decide to at least continue talking, she would be a very evil person.

"A few years ago, a friend of mine, one that I've known for over twenty years," she smiled, "longer than you've been alive, as a matter of fact; suddenly decided that he was going to open a café. It wasn't his childhood dream or anything like that. He simply felt like that was something that he wanted to do, and that it could be profitable. He spent weeks, maybe even months, planning the entire interior. He had - and I'm not exaggerating when I say this -- over 20 well developed floor plans. I didn't know why he simply didn't find a location that suited him and then planned accordingly, instead of making so many plans and essentially wasting time. He told me that the location would depend on the plans, not the other way around. When he decided on this two-floor plus secret living room one, he set out to find a location that suited it. I didn't do much of anything during that time, as far as his planning was concerned. He'd talk to me about his ideas, but it was more like he was talking at me, rather than to me."

"I didn't mind though; I could see how dedicated to this he'd become. I did accompany him to potential candidates, when he was looking for a suitable location, mostly because I'm a better negotiator than he is. He knew that if he saw a place that fit into what he wanted, he would agree to whatever price was offered to him first. Since I wasn't as lost in the project as he was, I was the one who wrote the contract for this place and negotiated the price."

She was so easy to listen to, the way she spoke, gently gesticulated, made me want to give her a book to just read to me. She could start reciting the Constitution and I'd still enjoy it. She seemed aware of this, and continued, "As it happens, you need money to buy real estate. And even more money if you want to furnish the entire lot with wooden furniture, repaint all the walls, buy all the necessary machinery etc. The glasses and silverware alone cost a lot, not to mention everything else, especially the location of the lot, so close to the center of town."

The well-groomed young waiter came back with a tray with two glasses of what was, at least partially, coffee. He put the taller glass in front of me, and it had a thick layer of something brown at the bottom of it. I thought it was just chocolate syrup smeared on the edges. Whatever Vallory got for herself came in a thicker, shorter glass, and it didn't have anything unusual in it, it just looked like coffee. Why wouldn't 'the usual' be coffee, though? I don't know why I was so confused at seeing that it was. Maybe it was an internal joke between her and the waiter. When he put her glass down in front of her, he said

"Here you go, boss." He turned to me, holding up an ashtray he brought with him. "Do you smoke?" So Vallory doesn't smoke. I shook my head. I did smoke, but I was the sort of parasitic smoker that only did so when other people did, excluding the occasional coffee by myself and mostly smoked other people's cigarettes. Especially Priscilla's. I bought my own pack and shared with her sometimes at least. She didn't mind me smoking hers as long as she could keep on calling herself my sugar daddy.