Pavlovian Reaction

All this continued for a long time, in the end I think we'd spent over three hours together, talking. We ended up sitting much closer to each other than in the beginning. Neither of our postures or behaviors changed much now that whenever one of us would gesticulate more freely, was sure to touch the other one. Her hand found her way more frequently to some unobtrusive part of my body, like my forearm or shoulder, when she wanted to emphasize something in particular. I felt more free with each new touch from her, and had subtly moved close enough for our legs to touch. I didn't feel comfortable with touching her in any other way yet, so I sat there and waited for her to touch me.

After a short lull in the conversation, that emphasized our nearness too much for me to be comfortable with the silence, I commented on the fact that there was a small bookshelf in this makeshift living room, and we started talking about that. She asked me what I liked to read, and I said that I currently mostly read 19th century British literature and that I was a huge fan of Jane Austen and George Eliot. She then asked me what my favorite book of Austen's was. I thought for a moment, started to say 'Pride and Prejudice' as most people would expect, but grinned and said

"Oh, I think I'd have to go with 'Emma'. I like the storyline, especially the ending." She furrowed her eyebrows when she saw the grin on my face, not sure why it was there. After a short moment she rolled her eyes and smiled.

"I never imagined that Austen could be used for such shameless flirting. I'm sure it never crossed Austen's mind either." I had honestly thought that she wouldn't get the 'joke', but I wasn't uneasy about her figuring it out. The brief pause she made before the word 'shameless', along with the look she gave me at that moment made me forget to breathe for a short while. I couldn't even blink, her gaze kept mine fixed on hers. I realized that neither of us was talking at that moment. I let my eyes briefly and audaciously move from her eyes to her lips, and I felt myself unintentionally lick my own lips as I looked back up at her. The unchanged expression on her face caught me off guard and confused me, but a knock at the door kept me from feeling embarrassed.

After that knock, the knocker came in, after Vallory's invitation. It wasn't the waiter, instead a middle-aged man came in. He had short, completely gray hair, and a trimmed beard with small black patches still visible. He was dressed in a pale, long coat with a scarf around his neck. I couldn't help thinking that he probably had his nails done as well, but when he spoke he seemed masculine. When he took his scarf off, hung it on the wall next to the door, and his jacket, he was wearing a black shirt underneath that just gave him a clean, well dressed, but modest air that really reminded me of - well, Vallory.

That was Vallory all over. I wondered whether he was her brother or something, I'd even assume that he was her husband, if she hadn't been referred to as "Miss" and never wore a ring. He greeted me first (this was before he took off his coat and scarf, I would have been much more confused if someone just walked in and started kicking his shoes off), and introduced himself as Vallory's friend. I gathered that he was probably the other owner of this place. He apologized for his intrusion, saying that he hadn't known we were there until someone downstairs told him. He asked Vallory whether he could have the room in about half an hour. He said that in an apologetic tone, meaning that he did need the room for something, and wouldn't have interrupted us otherwise.

She said that of course he could, and turned to me. I nodded that I understood that we had to leave, but sat back down along with Vallory. We spent some time talking with him. He asked me whether I was a student, what I studied, how I liked it - the typical friendly series of questions when you met someone new. We left about fifteen minutes later, and descended the stairs to the street. It was slightly more crowded outside than when we came in. She asked me whether I was in the mood to walk a bit. I said that I was and we chose a random direction in which to go.

Being next to her was much easier outside, where it was cold and with a jacket on, because she didn't feel nearly as accessible then. I wondered how to ask if I could see her again. I saw no reason for her to say that she didn't want to, my only insecurity being the unexpected coldness at the end. It wasn't like I actually did anything to make her uncomfortable, besides a few not entirely innocent looks, I thought I was a good companion that night. I was, however, a chickenshit. I decided to wait for her to tell me whether she wanted to see me again. Yes, because over three hours of talking and laughter are a sure sign that someone doesn't want to see you again. I was a selectively insecure teen, and wanted to give her the chance to just not say anything and for us to never talk again afterwards.

We walked, talked, I asked her whether that guy was the friend she mentioned before. She said that he was, and something about how long they've known one another, and that they didn't exactly hit it off at first. I wondered whether she had feelings for him, or whether they slept together at some point in their friendship. It seemed natural to me that two people who like each other, and were actually attracted to the sex of the other, would sleep together at some point, but maybe that was just my lesbian experience talking. The experience being that I hooked up with almost every gay/bi girl that I've met.

We started talking about food at some point and because I loved food more than most other things in life, it was a passionate conversation. Although I loved food, I wasn't the type to make or order complicated dishes. I just liked to order pizza, or a really big burger and just munch happily in a corner. She protested that I was missing out on a lot of easy to make, but much healthier and at least as tasty things. I agreed that I probably was, but that I was too lazy to make anything for myself, it was fine if I had to make something for someone else.

She then stopped walking, turned to me and said, "Well then, since you're such a generous person, I might just follow your example." She smiled, widely, her arms in her pockets. "Why don't you join me for lunch, or dinner, tomorrow? At my apartment of course, my point would be invalid if I just took you to a restaurant."

I had forgotten for a moment that she was in a way still presumed to be straight, and who she was, so replied as I would reply to someone like Pris. I said something about how she just wanted to lure me in with food.

Fuck. She didn't react to that, or at least not in a way that I could decipher. After a slightly longer pause than necessary said, "Technically I'm luring you in with food and alcohol." And she, of course, smiled. This had nothing noticeably flirtatious or sexual about it but her playful reply made me feel at ease again. We walked on for a little bit, she gave me directions to her place, we agreed on a time, again 7 p.m. and she walked me to my bus station.

***

I was already a pro at passing time until I could see Vallory. I studied, played games, went and got everything waxed that could be waxed, and shaved wherever my hair wasn't long enough to wax. I also carefully filed my nails. Now, I wasn't exactly 'expecting' sex, I didn't know what to expect from my interaction with Vallory, but it couldn't hurt to be prepared. If there wasn't any sex, I could just use this fresh hairlessness of mine with another girl (like Pris, for example). Judging by the serious case of blue balls I got from my date (yeah I'm calling it a date) the day before, spending time in her apartment would surely destroy me, and I'd need to fuck someone. I had to masturbate four times the night before, before I could fall asleep. My hand cramped a little by the end of the fourth time. Any more and I would get carpal tunnel.

I also went ahead and told The Blondes what I was up to. I logged into the group chat we had, and promptly said "Hey, girls, I might be dating a 40-something year old, just thought I'd give you a heads up."

After a few minutes my screen was filled with a mix of:

"Yea, you go with all ages."

"Does Pris know about this?"

"Nothing can surprise me from you anymore."

"Is this some new type of procrastination?"

"Did you meet her at your mom's prom reunion or something?"

"Did she like it more when marriages were arranged?"

They did this for at least ten minutes, one of them being online somehow necessarily meaning that the others were as well. After a while they decided to stop with the jokes and admonitions and actually ask me what was going on. I replied with a brief description of her and our date. Shortly after that The Blondes, unanimous as always, started to defend Pris and insist on me dating her seriously, instead of being a stubborn idiot and going after random women. This was a half-joke on their side, but they did really wish for me and Pris to be together. Also they didn't seem to believe me when I said that Pris wasn't into relationships all that much.

They also asked the usual things, whether we'd see each other again, if we'd made out yet, etc. They all noticeably disapproved of Vallory's age, apparently either distrusting her or thinking that she was too old. I wondered whether any of them would still think that after they'd met her. I thought about telling Pris, too, but decided against it. She'd just make a joke about me "always going for the best" (meaning primarily herself) anyway. I also felt like I was betraying her a little bit, The Blondes and their insisting that Pris liked me more than I thought making me feel guilty. As far as I knew Pris hadn't gone out with anyone else since my last relationship ended. I dismissed that thought and started getting ready for dinner.

I had already picked out what to wear - the dark red jeans from the day before and a different black t-shirt, this time with a belt, and with the t-shirt tucked in. The belt accentuated my hips and waist, and the t-shirt was slightly more revealing than the one I wore the day before, but still only showed a hint of cleavage. All I had left to worry about was my hair. I decided to wear it loose that time. My hair was clean, and surprisingly cooperative, so I just let it be. I again decided on no makeup, now adding that Vallory didn't wear any to my list of reasons against applying any.

Satisfied with the way I looked, I decided to eat something before heading out. Yes, I decided to eat something before dinner, as a precaution against pigging out too much when I got there. Women really do worry about the most random things.

I was almost convinced that Vallory was gay. Either way, I would just go to her place, have a good time, a good talk, and be content with going home sexually frustrated. Well, that was until I actually got there and she opened the door.

I decided to walk to her place, and had ample time for reflection. During that day, I had somehow forgotten that Vallory wasn't the usual type of woman I dated, or even hung out with. I had also forgotten that she was over twice my age, even with all the complaints from The Blondes. Whatever life experience I had was nothing compared to hers. Even if she had lived the most boring life, she still had much more experience than me. What did I know of life, anyway? I had barely a year or two of something that could even remotely be considered adulthood. I wondered how I fit into all of that, what made me interesting to her. In a weird sort of way, I thought that I would be disappointed if she was interested in me just for sex, and nothing else. I wanted to be accepted by someone like her, or someone like what I thought she was. In this confused, uncertain state I reached her building.

She lived in a relatively new apartment complex on the second floor. Of course, I took the elevator. I believed I would have that same feeling of uncertainty whether I had actually knocked or not, if the bell wasn't loud enough to break any chain of thought I might have had. The few seconds in which I waited for her to open were enough for me to start feeling very anxious.

She greeted me with a hug, and asked me to come in. I took my shoes off as soon as I did, because I hated when someone walked around my apartment without taking their shoes off (like my best friend omitted to do every time). The first thing I noticed about the apartment was the smell. There was a barely noticeable, artificial scent that I liked very much.

The walls were mostly red and grey with white accents that somehow fit the mental image I had of what her living space would look like. Everything was neat, but not obsessively so. When you entered the apartment, if you went straight ahead you'd enter a huge (when I say huge I mean almost the size of half of my two-bedroom apartment, that accommodated a family of five) living room. Technically, it was a living and dining room, with a bar separating it from the kitchen area. It seemed like the furniture was made from the same type of wood as the furniture in the café.

There was a decently sized sitting area with a huge, angled, dark brown couch that again reminded me of the café, it had several large, and several small, black or white pillows either on it, or propped up on the wall right behind one side of it (the side that was leaned against the wall, the other side faced the entrance). There was a low table in front of it, and two small lazy-bag like things on one of the free sides of the table. Of things that I noticed right away there was a TV, bookshelf, a glass cabinet, and -- since the room was also a dining room and kitchen - a table with the usual eight chairs around it. All the colors were dark, but the white accents on the walls made it feel as well lit as a room painted in light green. Before I entered the living room, on the left side there was a bathroom, that I was shown to when I took off my shoes and hung up my jacket. I supposed that the bedroom (or rather, bedrooms, since it seemed like the living room was too large for an apartment with just one bedroom), were on the left side of the hallway, while the living room, and the bathroom, were straight ahead. I wasn't offered a tour of the apartment, and didn't ask for one, adding internally that I hoped she'd show me the bedroom later, anyway.

She asked me what I wanted to drink, and I answered that I liked that peppermint and coffee combo. She smiled, and started to prepare that order of mine, going behind the bar to the stove, while I wondered where I should place my butt in the meantime.

"I thought for quite a while today about what I should prepare for us. I adhered to everything you said about not liking anything 'fancy' and preferring a simple, but abundant meal. So, given that I was in the mood for chicken and that I wasn't sure whether chicken was carnivorous enough for you, I made a compromise. I made an immensely complicated chicken salad, that has a pretentious six different ingredients."

I could feel her smirk, even though I couldn't see her face. I didn't feel comfortable with sitting on the couch while she was behind the bar, so I leaned on the opposite side of it, and watched her work. For the first time she wasn't wearing tight black pants, but the opposite -- white (gray, really), loose ones, that seemed to be something like a formal tracksuit. Above that she was wearing a tight, black, long-sleeved shirt that showed off her form perfectly, with sleeves pulled up to her elbows. Again, I noticed that her forearms were hairless, and couldn't help wondering if she went through the same hair removal procedure I went through earlier.

She continued after a slight pause in which she was concentrated on pouring milk into our cups. "And don't worry, you aren't doomed to just a salad. Although I think I made enough for five people. I made it more for myself than for you. I love how it tastes and it's something that I usually make for myself when I feel like putting in the effort. Besides that, I have some red meat too. You'll have to be content with my mother's recipe for steak. She seasons it with all sorts of things that you'd think could never go together. If nothing else -- she taught me how to cook steak perfectly, so at least you'll have that to make you feel better if the seasoning isn't all that. Oh, there's also enough steak for five people, so you're going to have to prove you weren't lying when you said you ate as much, or I might just feel like my cooking wasn't good enough."

I rolled my eyes, she turned to me, placed my mug in front of me, wondered for a moment about something, probably about whether we should stay where we were or move to the couch. I consequently said that standing at the bar was fine for me.

She nodded and continued "Everything that could be prepared in advance has already been prepared. I thought about cooking the steak before you got here as well, but decided against it. It doesn't take long to prepare and besides, I wouldn't do the nice cuts of meat I picked out justice if I served it cold. So when you feel like eating, tell me a bit in advance and I'll start preparing everything."

I was very glad that I already ate at home. I was hungry like a wolf after listening to her talk about food, and would have probably asked her to start making it right then if I hadn't. For the time being I was happy with my coffee and her attention. We talked about random things that came to my mind, or hers, and soon fell into the same mood we were in when we were together the day before. I wondered whether she was single or not. I was sure that she was formally single at least, maybe divorced or something, but I had no clue whether she was romantically involved with anyone. I wouldn't really care if she was, as long as she didn't mind that she was, I was down for it.

This time, I actually asked her what was on my mind. I beat around the bush a bit before actually asking her, and she didn't seem surprised at the question, or react in any way other than raising the inner corners of her eyebrows a bit. After a slight pause she said

"No, I'm not seeing anyone right now." After a longer pause, in which she seemed to be considering how much to tell me, she added, "I'm not married, if that's what you're asking... and I was never married, nor was I ever truly tempted to be."

And another pause here, before adding. "I'm in a sort of romantic retirement. Have been, in fact, for almost three years." Oh, I hadn't really considered that she was fucking asexual. I was tempted to ask why, but I didn't know how personal the subject was. If she was my age, or around my age, I would have asked her without a second thought, but her age often made me curb my curiosity.

She let out a chuckle and said, "You know, you don't have to feel intimidated by, or shield me because of how older than you I am. I wouldn't consider your questions disrespectful. If anything, I'd be disappointed if you kept them to yourself."

I told her that I was perfectly fine with being open, but that I simply didn't want her to be uncomfortable.

We agreed that I would ask whatever I would ask someone my own age. However, we still changed the subject. I did want to reopen the conversation, since I still didn't know for certain what her preferred sex was. I went near the subject by jokingly asking her how people met each other back in her day.

"Oh, you know, the usual. Carrier pigeons. Sometimes the letters were messy when they arrived but it was an inconvenience one got used to quickly. Imagine something along the lines of a primal Tinder. You'd write down on a piece of paper a very brief description of yourself, take a small photo of yourself, as if for an ID, and send several dozen copies of that via an equal number of homing pigeons, and tie a bright purple ribbon around it's free leg, so that people would know what type of pigeon it was. They would roam around for a while, possibly intercepted by someone who'd check the message they carried. If they were interested they would put their brief description and photo instead of yours, take the ribbon off, and the pigeon would faithfully and diligently bring that information back to you. The internet really makes things too easy for you youngsters, a lot less actual shit is involved."