Pavlovian Reaction

The serious, matter-of-fact manner in which she told this whole story to me made me laugh throughout her speech. My face was red by the time she finished, and all I could do was comment on the story saying, "That's a good, although imperfect system. I would change it a little. I would use two ribbons instead of one. The upper one would indicate your sex, male or female, with a blue or pink ribbon respectively, and the lower one would indicate the sex you were looking for. Now, it might get more complicated if you were in need of placing several ribbons." We both laughed at this, and I was too interested in the idea to stop there. "You'd have to have different shades for just how feminine or masculine you actually were, and a different width of the ribbons for how slim you were, or how slim you wanted your partner to be." We went on in this manner for a short time more, deciding that we'd need some bigger bird than the average pigeon in the end. Or something with longer legs at least.

She offered no further revelations about her sexuality during this fantasizing. I wondered how I could gently bring the subject up, but we didn't get to say much more before there was no more coffee, and she asked me whether I was in the mood for food now.

I said that I was, positive that I had been more than patient and well-mannered in waiting until then given that my tummy was rumbling ever since I heard what we were supposed to eat, and she began preparing everything. I offered to at least set the table and asked her where the plates and silverware were. The steak was already frying by the time I reached the table to set it and my stomach growled as the smell reached me. I couldn't tell what other scents there were besides the obvious one of meat, but I wasn't exactly a culinary expert, and it was enough for me to smell meat to be satisfied.

I placed the plates and bread that I carried on the table, and had to go back for the silverware. I stopped to cut a few slices of bread as an afterthought to keep the lack of it from hindering my pigging out. I could have carried absolutely everything I needed to at once, but wanted to show her that I cared about not dropping her stuff on the floor.

The silverware was in the drawer to her right. That meant squeezing between her and the bar behind her in order to reach it. Oh boy. I waited for a second, in case she offered to hand it to me, but she seemed preoccupied with what she was doing. So I decided to start to squeeze by slowly. I thought about just turning away from her as I did, but it would have been obvious why I was doing that, because of how impractical it was to turn around first, pass her, then turn around again to open the drawer, and again turn around again to pass her. So I sucked my gut in, leaned my ass as far back against the bar as I inconspicuously could, and took one big side step to get past her.

Fortuitously or not, no part of me rubbed against her, and she didn't seem to notice the extra level of effort I put into reaching the drawer. I opened the drawer, asked her whether there was a specific set that I should use, since I could see at least two different types of forks, and many more varieties of knives. She just told me to pick whichever one I thought was best. I did, and all I had left to do was to just as inconspicuously slide back. I started to, with the silverware in my right hand, but lingered a bit when I was right behind her. Only for half a second though, if she wasn't paying attention to what I was doing, chances that she would notice would be slim.

Her smell managed to reach me, even with the overwhelming smell of the steak, and I felt the urge to lean closer, nuzzle her neck and take a deep breath through my nose. I forgot how small the space was, and started turning earlier than I should have, and pushed her slightly with my hip. I placed my hand on her lower back to apologize, since she was in front of a gas stove after all. I said the apology, and moved away. It wasn't lost on me that this was the first contact I've had with a relatively intimate part of her body, even if it was brief and light. I didn't think about that for long, since my stomach was now louder than my thoughts.

She asked me, not turning, whether I perhaps preferred my steak well done. I answered that I didn't and she soon turned the stove off. She placed the four pieces of steak, a fillet cut as far as I could see with so little fat on it that I wondered whether it really came from such a huge animal, and handed me the plate over the bar. I took it, placed it in the middle of the portion of the table where we were sitting, and wondered whether I placed the plates in the right place.

I assumed that she would be sitting at the head of the table, and that I would be sitting in one of the chairs right next to her. I wanted to turn and actually ask her, but decided that this was the layout I preferred and that I wasn't going to give her the chance to separate us. Nope, not creepy at all.

She took the plastic wrap off the rather large bowl of salad she took out of the fridge, handed me the bowl, looked around to see if she'd forgotten anything and after a moment remembered that we didn't have anything to drink. She asked me to sit and soon came to the table herself carrying two glasses filled with the already familiar liquid.

I wondered whether I could pig out right away or if I had to wait. She motioned toward the food and said, "Please." Being the good guest that I was, I took one of the steaks, resisted the urge to just shove it in my mouth right away, and placed it on my plate. Besides, pigging out is really the best way to show someone you liked their cooking.

We talked, laughed, ate, drank, for almost an hour. The food was amazing, whatever seasoning her mother figured out was the best I've ever had on a steak. The only thing my untrained taste could distinguish was honey. Even the damn salad was worth being a meal on its own. I was actually full and that's not a common sight. It was easier to drink this way though, it would take a lot for me to really feel it and so I could enjoy the light effects and the taste of what I was drinking.

"You said that you had started studying psychology late in your life and that that might be the reason why you behave differently than some of your coworkers, if I remember correctly. What did you do for a living before that?" My glass was almost empty again and Vallory made sure to always refill it when it threatened to become unused. She kept up with me glass for glass, though. We both seemed to be handling the alcohol pretty well. The only difference I felt was an extra warmth in my cheeks and legs, but that wasn't necessarily the alcohol at work. She rolled her glass between her fingers, looking at the moving liquid before answering.

"I used to be a lawyer. And no, I don't have a story about how I realized how immoral the profession was and that I had to choose between earning a living and upholding my principles. Nothing like that. Nor was I bad at my job. I was rather good actually. I was just-" She paused for a moment, looking at me and then at her glass again, smiled in a sad sort of way and continued. "I was simply tired of it and had been for a long while before I decided to quit. It might sound incredulous that someone decided to switch to psychology as a more relaxing profession. However, I had always loved psychology and found that making people think about their life choices before they were forced to regret them made me feel better about the impact my life had on other lives. There is a lot more to it, but I don't feel particularly in the mood to discuss that right now."

She giggled before adding "You know, I really wonder just how quickly I'd lose my license to practice if people knew I invited my patients over for dinner."
I furrowed my eyebrows, unsure whether she was joking or not. "What do you mean? Would you be in trouble if people found out that I was here?"

She shrugged her shoulders and said "Maybe. Probably not though, since you're not my patient in the classic sense. I'm hired as a consultant, not as a psychologist in any official capacity. Actually, they hired the lawyer in me, rather than the psychologist. Even the word 'hired' is inappropriate, because I don't get paid for my work there." She laughed, rolling her eyes. "Most of the things I do there are related to law consulting. Working with you in the capacity in which you met me was something I insisted on. However, I still wouldn't go around telling my bosses that I asked you over for dinner."

A slight "Oh" escaped my lips when I remembered that I had told The Blondes that Vallory was a psychologist, and their consequent disapproval. The idea that they might tell someone who knew Vallory going through my mind. I couldn't remember whether I had told them her name or not.

"What's the matter?"

I wasn't sure whether it was important enough to tell her, or whether I felt comfortable telling her, but I decided to do so, at least as a heads up in case something happened.

"Well I... um..." I licked my lips, her smile widening with each second of my struggling to enunciate what I had to say. The grin on her face made me feel defiant, and I started boldly, saying "I told some of my friends that I was with you the night before, and that we were..." I broke off here, blushing profusely.
"That we were what? Alone? In a suggestive environment, drinking? I don't remember us doing anything particularly incriminating." Her grin seemed spread from ear to ear. I made a show of rolling my eyes, but my cheeks were treacherously red.

"Hey, I just wanted express my concern for your well-being and admit that I might have caused the future loss of your license, and this is how you treat me." She giggled, made a dismissive gesture with her hand, and changed the subject. She asked me why I had chosen to study what I did. We continued to talk about light subjects such as life choices and whether repentance was to be considered as genuine, when a person has no other choice other than to be punished for what they had done.

***

I had digested a good portion of the meal before we decided to clean up the table. She picked up the bigger plate where the steaks were, the mostly empty bowl of salad, and the tray the bread was in and I carried the plates and silverware. I left the glasses on the bar top, since I supposed that we'd be needing them again. I was aware that if I'd follow her to the sink, we'd be very close to each other, given the scarcity of available space. However, that wasn't something that I was going to purposefully avoid. I had decided that I was going to start showing my interest more freely and if she didn't want that, she could just tell me and then I'd stop being so preoccupied with it. I walked up next to her while she was putting the dishes she carried into the sink, placing the one that had the steaks in it into water, moving the leftover contents from the salad bowl into a smaller, more practical container; and then placing the now empty bowl into the sink as well.

I came really close to her, my breasts almost touching her arm and placed the dishes I carried next to the sink. I felt her pause ever so slightly as I did so, but she didn't turn to look at me, instead she kept her eyes on what she was doing. I lingered there just a bit longer, before moving away and leaning against the bar. I stood opposite her, a little to the side, so that we didn't actually touch, but we were close enough to both be aware of the nearness. I was feeling very confident for once, and felt like being playful, seeing how she would react to different things I did. Whether it was the effect of the alcohol, or her not saying anything to my being so close, I wasn't sure and didn't care. In fact, I felt no reason not to take a good look at her, now that she was close. She seemed so lean and strong, in a gentle sort of way, like she could be softer than anything in one moment and effortlessly hold you down in the next.

My ass was leaned against the protruding part of the bar, my hands holding onto it on either side. Basically I looked like I was about to get my dick sucked. She finished with the dishes quickly, grabbed a towel to wipe her hands dry and turned to me, all the while not saying anything. She again paused slightly in her wiping when she looked at me, cocked her head to the side a bit and smiled with one corner of her mouth. If she didn't have wrinkles around her mouth, I might have missed that smile altogether, but I managed to notice it this way, and felt a wide one creep onto my face.

She placed the towel back where it was before, crossed her arms, and leaned against the counter, opposite me. I could feel her right leg against my own right leg, a good portion of my confidence and playfulness evaporated, replaced by shyness and uncertainty regarding what I should do.

"So, how was dinner?" she asked me softly. "I thought I followed every vague instruction you gave me yesterday."

I was horny already, probably had been so for a long time, but I only started to really notice it when I felt her leg against mine. She kept her eyes fixed on me, her posture and attitude seemed to go along with mine perfectly.

I told her dinner was amazing, and I really meant it, making an internal joke about how it was easy for her to cook well -- she was over 25 years older than me, and a woman, so she had that much more experience in the kitchen.

Her eyes fell lower as I spoke, and stopped somewhere on my chest. I was slowly losing that "I'm not desperate for you" battle. I could feel the skin on my cheeks and ears start to burn, and that I had to focus in order to breathe normally. I wanted to look down and see what she was looking at for some reason, as if I didn't know my every millimeter of my chest.

She motioned her head slightly upwards, drawing my attention to what she was looking at. "You always wear that necklace, or at least you wore it every time I saw you. Does it have any special meaning?"

I was confused for a moment, but shortly realized that her staring at my breasts would be ever so slightly out of character. I took the pendant between my fingers. It was a simple, thin, black cord necklace with a round, metal pendant that had a Sun themed engraving, falling just above where one could say my breasts started. I looked at it, as if just now remembering that I had it on me, even though I always wore it. I let it fall back on my chest after a little while, and moved my hands to my sides again.

She looked back up at me as I spoke. I told her that I bought it years ago, while on vacation and that it simply went with most of the things I wore. Also that I had gotten used to it so much that it was impossible for me to wear an open t-shirt without it and that I felt as if my chest was somehow "too" naked. She pushed off of the counter she was leaning against, and asked, "What does that engraving represent?"

She uncrossed her arms and slid her fingers underneath the pendant, brushing them against my bare skin, and traced the engraving with her thumb. It was a good question. I didn't know that it was some ancient symbol for the Sun until someone else asked me and we looked it up online when I said I didn't know what it was.

I took my time replying to her, telling her exactly that. At first looking at my pendant in her fingers, and then at her, realizing that I had to put some effort into breathing normally. About halfway through my explanation, she relaxed the back of her fingers more fully against my chest, still holding the pendant and looking at me as I spoke. I wondered whether she could feel how fast my heart was beating underneath. I tried to hold on to whatever edge I still had in this situation and continued to talk as if nothing was happening. I moved my hand up to where hers was still holding my pendant, placed it on her wrist, and moved her thumb with mine over one part of the engraving.

"See this? This is supposed to represent one sunray," I continued moving her thumb across the pendant, tracing all the rays slowly. "Some people tried to convince me that there was some special meaning hidden behind the fact that there are ten engraved rays but..."

I was tempted to simply lean her hand fully against my chest, and let my breasts do the convincing. Instead I moved my hand lightly down her forearm before lowering it back onto the bar. As I did, my eyes lazily followed it, and in doing so traced a line from the top of her breasts down to her knees.

She let go of the pendant by now, not lingering there, as I thought she would. Instead she moved her hand lower than that, tucked her forefinger easily between the waistband of my jeans and the tucked-in t-shirt. I inhaled sharply, whether audibly or not I can't remember. I just know that I stopped breathing when I saw the top of her finger disappear, and saw her tug on my pants gently. Not in an effort to unbutton them, but to bring me closer, or rather, to show me that she wanted me closer.

My eyes had followed her hand, and then returned to her face. It had a different expression from the one I was used to seeing. It was still firm and soft at the same time, but both of these expressions were much stronger than usual. She looked straight at me, and I could see the wish stated by her hand reflected in her eyes.

When I fully raised my head to look at her, she smirked. That particular 'what are you going to do about it?' smirk that only women who know they are about to be fucked have. I moved my right leg so that she was now between them, placed my hands on her hips, and pulled them closer in one, hard motion.

The first part of her that touched me was her crotch, then her stomach on mine, then her breasts, and her face was less than an inch from mine. I could feel her exhale on my lips from the force of the pull. There was a moment where I looked at her up close for the first time and noticed that her eyes had a green hue as well as brown. I leaned in to kiss her, for some reason feeling like she was going to back away, feeling like I did when I was supposed to kiss for the first time, like I didn't know what to expect, but simply knew that I wanted it.

She didn't back away, instead she moved both of her hands to my face, the one she used to tug on my pants already free from that position. She placed them on my neck, just under my jawline, and met my kiss. I kissed her in that clumsy, first kiss in high school kind of way, still unsure whether that was something I could do or not, and not knowing how she liked to be kissed.

I was overwhelmed by numerous sensations; I could feel her crotch still firmly pressed on mine, my hands still on her hips, holding her there, her hands on my face and neck, her smaller breasts against mine, and her lips on mine.

Her lips were thin, but also soft and moist and the way she kissed and lightly tugged on my lower lip made me feel as I would burst. We continued kissing, slowly at first but gradually harder, more eager with each kiss as we got used to each other. I moved my hands from her hips to her ass. I briefly felt like I shouldn't be doing that, doing any of that with her, the vague connection with my mother still dancing around in my subconscious.

As soon as I got my hands on her ass, she placed both of hers on my chest and pushed me away slightly. Not in an effort to actually push me away, but just to separate our lips. She kept them close though, looking in turn at my eyes and then at my lips. She traced her hands lower, briefly over my breasts, over my stomach, then back up my waist, before planting them where they were at the beginning of her short exploration.

I leaned in to kiss her, closing the gap between us, but she moved her head back ever so slightly, and kept pressure on my chest so that I couldn't reach her. I cocked my head and furrowed my eyebrows a bit, looking at her inquisitively, but she just smiled and seemed to beckon me to try again. I did, and the same thing happened. I was now as eager to kiss her as I was while her fingers played with my pendant. I pulled her in closer with my hands still on her ass, but the same thing happened again, only this time she followed me as I withdrew after my failed attempt, brushed her lips against mine, and moved back again. The bitch was teasing me. She probably knew how she made me feel as soon as I knew myself, maybe even before that.