Sweetness

"Be right back," our waiter said.

"Oh, I wonder what Brad is thinking," Peyton asked. "A big strong man like you ordering such a sweet, girly drink. But you follow orders very well. I do like that."

I smiled. I liked following her orders. And so far, I liked playing her games.

We started talking, revealing little things. It was still too early in our relationship, and I did see a relationship forming, to talk about far deeper things. She told me about Louisiana State University where she went to college and I told her about attending college at UCLA and my degree in advertising. I learned more about her family and she learned equally revealing tidbits about mine.

Brad was a diligent waiter, filling our drink orders and keeping my tea full following that one embarrassing drink. Peyton had a second glass of wine and then switched to coffee stating, "I don't have to get up early." She made me smile when she added, "And the night is still young."

We ordered and ate, the conversation flowing easily. There were no long, awkward pauses as we struggled to find a commonality. We talked, one subject merging seamlessly into the next. I learned about her mom and offered a sincere "I'm sorry," when she told me more about the brother she almost had. She told me more about her father and how he never started dating after the accident that took her mother's life. "He just doesn't have it in him," Peyton said. "It's too bad, really. He is a great dad and he was a great husband."

"Did you ever think of setting him up?"

Peyton gasped as if I said something blasphemous but then nodded, "of course, silly." She shrugged. "Maybe someday."

"Would either of you like desert?" Brad refilled my tea and topped of Peyton's coffee.

"Ooh," Payton said, her eyes lighting her face, "What do you have?"

He recited the desert menu. Peyton stopped him half way though. "The crème brûlée. Definitely." She smiled at me. "Two spoons."

Brad acknowledged the order and left the table. "Now," she giggled. "Let's do something naughty."

"Oh?"

"Go to the little boy's room and take off your panties. I've been wondering all night which ones you're wearing. Did you pick them out special for me?"

"No," I admitted. "I didn't quite think we'd get that far on a first date."

Peyton laughed, "Good boy. I'll do the thinking, remember? Run off now. Before Brad gets back."

I left the table, passing two couples out on a date and a family of four where the twin girls were talking loudly about having far too much homework. I walked past the bar where single men and single women were chatting and drinking. One older man sat there eating a steak and watching Sports Center on the lone television mounted above the bar.

In the empty bathroom I entered the handicap stall. I kicked off the shoes I had polished before my date, undid my belt, and slipped off my slacks. I pulled my panties off. During the day I had worn Peyton's red ones, but I'd changed prior to our date. My current panties were blue, the color of the deepest ocean, with dozens of little pink hearts serving as polka dots. The waistband was made of lace and a simple pink bow sat in the center. I liked them. They were cute.

I got dressed and returned to Peyton, my panties hidden in the pocket of my slacks. Peyton was grinning. "Hand them here."

I handed her my panties.

Peyton put them on the table, spreading them out like setting an insect on a cork board. Sitting on the white tablecloth they were impossible to miss. I glanced from the panties to Peyton and back again. My throat seemed to tighten up; my mouth went dry. I picked up my tea, took a sip, paused and took another.

Peyton laughed. "Relax. Brad will think they're mine and that you're going to get lucky. But, please," she let out a throaty rumble, "keep acting nervous and maybe he'll figure it out." She looked towards the ceiling as if deep in thought. "Maybe he will think they're yours. You are the one that ordered the girly drink after all."

I took another pull of my tea. She was right. It was possible that Brad would think the panties on the table belonged to the woman at the table. After all, men didn't wear panties. Ask my ex-wife about that one. But men didn't order cosmopolitans, either. I place my glass on the tablecloth. My hand was shaking slightly. Brad may think they belonged to Peyton, but she and I knew those panties belonged to me. I couldn't shake that thought.

Brad returned with the crème brûlée. He placed the desert on the table closed to Peyton. I watched him, his eyes darting from my blue panties with little pink hearts, to Peyton and then back to the panties. He glanced at me and then back to Peyton. Peyton was grinning, her eyes glued to me. I was embarrassed and slightly aroused. I could feel the heat on my face and when I reached for my tea my hand was shaking.

"Enjoy," Brad said walking away after casting another glance at Peyton. Maybe he thought they were hers. Why would he think otherwise?

"It's eating you up, isn't it?"

I admitted it was.

"Good. Oh, you are so much fun." With that she picked up the spoon and cracked the caramelized sugar topping to our shared desert. She took the first bite, letting out a soft sound of pleasure. "Oh, that's good."

I picked up the second spoon and joined in. The desert was creamy, the hard top deliciously decadent. It was a very good crème brûlée.

Brad returned with the check. I reached for it.

"Allow me," Peyton said.

I shook my head. "Then it wouldn't be a proper date," I said. She was right to offer to pay and I was glad she made the attempt even if we both knew going in that I'd be paying for dinner. She was as polite as she was mysterious.

"Thank you," she said, her dark eyes locked on mine.

"You're welcome."

We left the restaurant. I opened the car door for Peyton, exactly as I had when we'd left her house. She buckled herself in as I made my way to the driver's side. I started the car and pulled out of the restaurant. "Where are we heading?"

"You'll see," I said. I could be mysterious, too.

"Oh, goodie, a surprise." She exclaimed, clapping her hands together in a rapid staccato. She had a playful tone in her voice, like a child opening the biggest birthday present and not believing the present was for them.

Once, long ago, I went on my second to last first date with my ex-wife. We had gone to dinner and afterwards I'd taken her bowling. It was silly and childish and fun. A little competition mixed with a lot of laughter. We pulled out of the restaurant and twenty minutes later I was parking in front of a bowling alley boasting "thirty lanes of fun."

"I haven't been bowling in forever."

"Me either," I admitted, omitting the fact that I'd taken my ex-wife here long ago. That wasn't important anyway. I parked and together Peyton and I climbed from the car. She stood, staring at me, her head cocked. "What?" I asked.

"You know," she glanced down, "I'm not exactly dressed for this."

"Oh, shit," I hadn't thought about that. I was so caught up in repeating a perfect first date from so long ago that it never dawned on me that Peyton was wearing a lovely black dress while my ex-wife, Linda, had been wearing slacks and a simple peasant blouse.

Peyton laughed, "I'm so going to kick your ass." She spun around and started running towards the bowling alley.

I sprinted after her, both of us laughing. I caught her just as she reached the front door. "I win!" She cheered. She stuck her tongue out and then gave me a quick kiss, startling me. I liked being startled with lovely surprises like that.

I opened the door for her and loved that she let me.

We went into the building. Most of the overhead fluorescents were out; the building was lit with black lights. Neon paint on the walls showed happy anthropomorphic bowling balls stalking equally humanized bowling pins. Overhead, in the middle of the bowling alley, a disco ball was spinning, sending bright points of light to all corners of the building. Music was playing, some upbeat, rhythmic song that I didn't know but found it to be quite catching. It was a beat you could dance to.

I had reserved the lane and even though we were ten minutes early the lane was clear. We got our shoes and our balls and while Peyton was swapping her delicious heels for the bowling shoes and disposable socks I was getting each of us a beer.

"Ready?" Peyton asked, as I returned, a cold bottle of beer for each of us.

I smiled, "yep."

"What's the stakes?"

Her playful streak was shining through. "What did you have in mind?"

"Hmm," she said, tapping her chin with one long, perfectly painted finger. "How about winner gives the loser a massage."

"Sounds like I win either way."

She laughed. She rushed towards me, planted a little kiss on the tip of my nose, "I go first."

I laughed right along with her. Peyton sat at down and plugged our names into the computerized score card. Her name first. For my name she entered Sweetness. The song changed into one I'd heard, asking what a fox says. It, like the song before was catchy and upbeat. The lights above the disco ball changed colors, now reds and blues and greens were spinning over the lanes and the ceiling and the walls. On either side of us couples and singles and families continued their own games, each of them lost in their own oasis just as Peyton and I were. I took a sip of my beer and watched at Peyton sashayed up to our lane. She picked up the ball, waggled her lovely behind at me, drawing my attention to the shape of her legs, the swell of her hips and the softness of her ass. It was a delightful weapon in her arsenal for sure.

Peyton brought the ball up, her arms folded towards her chest. She concentrated, staring down the lane. The disco lights bounced off her arms and back and hair. She took the first step forward, her arm dropping. Another step and the ball continued falling backwards. A third step found the ball moving forward, fast, faster, almost a blur. The fourth step and the ball slipped from her hands. It spun towards the gutter and curved just before dipping into oblivion. It spun towards the pins, striking just to the left of the head pin. The sound was loud as eight pins toppled. She turned towards me, her brown eyes big, those lips that had already given two gentle kisses pulled upward with a joyous smile.

I was nodding. "I'm in trouble."

She shrugged. "Maybe." She blew me a kiss while waiting for her ball to return. She picked it up and focused again. She threw the ball and made the spare.

"Definitely in trouble."

We passed each other next to the scoring table. She ran one finger along my hand, giving me chills. I picked up my ball, glanced at the pins, back to Peyton, and to the pins again. Peyton had hooked her ball into the pins, I tended to throw my ball straight. My ball hit to the right of the foremost pin, somehow taking out a total of five. My second throw went exactly where the first one went, only this time the ball hit nothing but air. I have five points; Peyton was sitting on a spare.

"Hmm, now what should I get for winning the frame?" Peyton asked, toying with me.

"So, we're playing frame by frame, are we?"

She shrugged, took a sip of her beer, and took my hand briefly before passing me towards the elevated lane.

There were a lot of little touches as we played. We held hands, had two chaste kisses, and one long swaying hug through a John Cougar Mellencamp song that we both loved. We smiled. We laughed. We touched. At the end, I won one game and Peyton won two. Years earlier I'd beaten Linda three games to none. The joyous look of victory on Peyton's face was a pleasure to behold. She didn't gloat, but she did let me know how much she was looking forward to her massage. I told her that I was looking forward to it as well.

"I bet you are."

We left the bowling alley, once again Peyton letting me get the door for her. I knew her to be a strong, powerful woman so her allowing me to be chivalrous told me everything I needed to know about the strength of her character.

"That was fun, thank you," Peyton said as I climbed in the car.

"It was. And you're welcome."

I put my rental car in gear and started driving. Peyton was quiet, staring out the side window. When she spoke her voice was low, muffled by her hanging head and by the seriousness of her words. "You're not going to cheat on me, are you?"

There was a sadness in her words. I could hear a long-ago heartbreak rising to the surface like a horrible monster about to wreak havoc on some innocent fishing village. She was looking away, as if she couldn't face me, too afraid of the answer I might give. I felt my heart ache a little. She sounded small and insecure, hurt and both scared and scarred. Someone, long before me, had hurt her and that pain still stung.

I glanced at her as she rested her head on the passenger side window. "No," I said. I pulled into a parking space next to a closed furniture store. Peyton's words and tone let me know that this conversation was important and needed more attention than I could give while driving. I parked the car, turned off the headlights, and turned to face her. I took the hand closest to me. She flinched but didn't pull away. "I'm not like that," I said. "I've never been like that."

Peyton sat up. She faced me. Her eyes were damp. She wasn't crying but it was close. "I really had a good time and you've been good to me. Good for me. I've been..."

"He cheated on you?"

She nodded. "With my best friend. Two for the price of one," she tried to smile and failed.

I knew what she meant. She lost her friend and her boyfriend in on fail swoop. I thought of Linda and how it would have felt if she'd have cheated on me. I couldn't imagine a worse feeling and by the sadness in Peyton's words and the tone of her quivering voice I knew she had felt what I could not imagine. I rubbed the top of her hand with my thumb. She was facing me now but still out of reach. "I would never ever do that," I said. "Ever."

"Promise."

"I promise."

Her lips lifted in a smile but faded away. "Sorry. It's just."

"I know."

"No. No you don't. It wasn't just that he cheated on me or who it was with it was that he didn't even try and deny it. I caught them. I was supposed to take a shift for another nurse because her son had been arrested. Drugs," she shrugged. "She showed up for work right on time and I was surprised to see her. 'What happened?' I had asked. I still remember her saying how it was probably best that her son spent the night in jail. 'Maybe he'll learn something.' She'd said that like she didn't exactly believe it.

"So, I left after my scheduled shift. When I got home they were, well," she gave a defeated shrug, "on the same kitchen counter where I'd cooked dinner so many nights. Jason, my ex, looked at me, grinning, while Kathy, looked away embarrassed. Jason reached out and said, 'join us.' He didn't stop what he was doing. Neither of them did. There wasn't any shame on his face. He didn't feel guilty or if he did it didn't look like it to me."

I stayed quiet. Letting her speak. The sad look on her face was replaced with something primal. It wasn't exactly anger but that was there, too. It was something stronger than that. Rage maybe. Tinged with shame. "I turned around and was gone a moment later. Jason never came running out. Kathy tried calling me later, but I didn't answer. I haven't talked to her since." She sighed, finally pulling her hand from mine. "If you're going to cheat on me..."

The rest hung in the air, weighing on both of us. "I won't. I'm a one-woman man. Honest." I don't know if she believed me, but I knew she would in time. I'd never cheated on Linda. The thought had never entered my mind.

"Okay." She considered what I said and then perked up slightly. "Okay," she repeated a little bit stronger. A smile returned to her face. "You owe me a massage and I am dying to see your panty collection and those heels you told me about." She paused in thought. "Can you take me home? I have plans tomorrow. How about you show me your collection Monday after work?"

I took her home. We talked during the drive about television shows we liked and our favorite singers. The conversation was light and while it wasn't strained there was the specter of Peyton's worries clouding what we said. She grew more animated and was giving honest smiles by the time I kissed her goodnight. This kiss wasn't the coy, playful kisses we'd given each other while bowling. There was true emotion behind this kiss. One that had Peyton saying I'm holding to your promise while mine saying I won't let you down. It was honest, sweet, and inquisitive, hinting at what could be. It took my breath away.

"Good night," she said.

"Good night."

She stood at her front door until I backed out of her driveway. I waved, and she waved back. I was smiling into my rear-view mirror as Peyton shut the door. Once long ago I took Linda on our first date and I had thought that that date was perfect. The one with Peyton, my truly last first date, went so much better. Not just because of who she was but because of the vulnerability she'd revealed in telling me about her final heartbreak. She'd intrigued me when she revealed she knew my secret. She enamored me by telling me hers. Monday couldn't get her soon enough.

Chapter 3

Fashion Fun

I handed my new iPhone to Peyton. "When I tell you to, hit play."

Peyton was sitting in my leather recliner, one leg crossed over the other. She had one shoe dangling freely; she could wiggle her toes and the sneaker would fall to the ground. She glanced at the phone. "What are you up to?"

"You'll see. Hit play when I tell you."

"Okay."

I walked through the kitchen, turned left and dashed into my bedroom. I kicked off my shoes, doffed my pants and took off my tie. I had a simple beef roast simmering in the crock pot, but before we ate it was time for some fun. I'd had an idea on how to satisfy Peyton's request to see my panties and it was time to put that plan into motion.

The yellows ones were first because, of course, they had to be. They were the ones that started it all. Peyton was sitting in my favorite recliner, the one I used to sit in every night after my ex-wife had moved out. The one I'd sit in and ponder exactly how I wound up sitting alone, with my marriage not just falling apart but crumbling. The one that would support my weight but couldn't exactly support the weight of my thoughts.

"Hit play," I called from the kitchen, just out of view.

The music started. Bob Segar started to wail about taking old records off the shelf.

I darted into the living room and slid across the floor, miming Tom Cruise from one of his earlier movies, the one where he dated a prostitute. I was wearing a white, button down dress shirt and the same yellow panties Peyton had already seen. The ones that had made her say, "Yellow. Nice." The one that had started it all. They were soft and lacy, the back a thin, sheer material almost like an overused coffee filter. Peyton made an amused snort, set her wine glass on the coffee table, and then began to applaud. "Shake it, mister. Shake it!"

And I shook it. I waggled my pantied ass towards her, shaking my hips. It wasn't exactly twerking, I didn't have the coordination for that, but it was close. Peyton was laughing and hooting while I sashayed from one side of the living room to the other. "Here we have Mason wearing a saucy yellow number," I said, unbuttoning my shirt before tossing it aside, "straight out of a Lane Bryant catalogue. Notice the wide hips and the full seat. The perfect accent for a warm spring day."

Peyton snorted. In all the years I've been on this earth I had never in my life seen a woman having so much fun. Hell, I didn't know it was possible for anyone to feel as much joy as she seemed to portray and seeing it made me feel the most masculine I'd ever felt. And I was wearing panties. I found that fascinating.