Wish Upon a Star

"I see," I finally whispered, realizing I'd straightened that bra at least half a dozen times.

Dale smiled and looked down.

"Sooo...," he said, patting the bench behind him.

I walked slowly over and sat where indicated. I leaned over the back of my bench to look Dale in the eye.

"Sooo...?" I asked softly.

Dale hesitated. The tension in the room began to rise, and I suddenly realized I was holding my breath waiting for an answer. I released the air in my lungs and snuggled down on my arm, closing my eyes. I could hear Dale breathing lightly a few inches away, and I smiled.

"Nice panties," Dale cracked.

The tension broke, and I burst out giggling uncontrollably. I reached over and swatted him in the arm.

"Shut up!" I exclaimed. "That's not very funny!"

"It is to me," Dale retorted. "You should have seen the look on your face when I said it."

"I can imagine," I replied wryly. "Still not funny."

"Yeah, whatever. You laughed."

"I laughed because it was so ridiculous. That's not exactly what I was expecting you to say."

"Oh?" Dale asked. "And what, exactly,wereyou expecting?"

I shrugged, looking away.

"I dunno," I said, "but not that."

"No, no. No looking away. Look at me and tell me. I wanna know. What were you expecting me to say?"

I turned and tried to look him in the eye, but I was turning red again and couldn't hold his gaze.

"I dunno... maybe something about our plans tomorrow?"

I had just blown it. I had had a perfect chance to tell Dale what I was really thinking, and I came up with something lame-ass like that. I felt angry at myself.

I could tell Dale wasn't buying what I had just said, either. He looked at me suspiciously but played along.

"Well, it's our only day here, so what do you want to do?"

We discussed our plans, first for Florence, then for the rest of the trip. Everything was turning out – travel-wise – exactly as we had originally planned, and we were both pleased.

The dryer eventually stopped turning, and we gathered up our clothes and walked back up to the room. As we walked, I glanced at Dale. He looked exhausted. I felt bad that I had taken a nap on the train, since it meant he hadn't had the opportunity.

Once we got to the room, I offered to separate the laundry and put it in our respective bags if he wanted to get ready for bed. Dale nodded and left me to it, heading for the bathroom. I hummed as I worked, and by the time he emerged, I had finished.

"My turn," I said, heading into the bathroom with my T-shirt and panties.

I came back out, and Dale eyed me with a smile. He was lying comfortably in bed, looking half-asleep.

"Nice panties," he quipped again.

I lifted my T-shirt and spun around, my red thong visible against my pale skin.

"Happy now?" I grinned. "You keep saying they're nice; now you know what they look like on me."

"Very happy," Dale said, suddenly looking more alert.

"You're such a man," I laughed. "One look at a pair of underwear and you're all set for a wet dream."

Dale looked down swiftly before realizing the comforter was pulled over him. I caught the look as I walked to my bed, and my smile broadened. I guessed I had made him hard again. The instant I got into bed, Dale reached over and flipped off the lamp. We bid each other good night, and I lay still in the dark silence, waiting for sleep to come.

About twenty minutes later, I heard a soft noise coming from the direction of the bathroom and Dale's bed. It took me a few minutes to work out what it sounded like, but eventually I realized it was the sound of something rubbing against a bed sheet. Dale's breathing had also become heavier. As the revelation of what he was doing shot into my brain, I had to stifle a giggle. When I shifted to hide my face, the sound stopped. I held extremely still. A few seconds later, it began again, and Dale's breathing became even more labored. I closed my eyes, trying to imagine what it would look like to watch Dale jerking off.

A soft noise came from the direction of Dale's bed.

"Oh, shit," he whispered.

The sound stopped seconds later. Ten minutes after that, Dale was snoring loudly, obviously worn out.

It took forever to wipe the smile off my face, but at long last, I fell asleep.

*****

CHAPTER TEN: FLORENCE

The next morning, I woke first. I got up and wandered into the bathroom. I took a quick shower before taking my time fixing my hair. I recalled the sound of Dale jerking off and grinned to myself. Presumably, he was jerking off to the thought of me, and I wanted to look as attractive as possible to encourage any sort of fantasy.

Finally, my hair was well-coifed. I stood back from the mirror and looked over my still-naked body. My breasts, though small, were nice and perky; the nipples stood up in the rapidly cooling bathroom air. My neatly trimmed bush stood out starkly against my pale skin. Overall, I thought, I didn't look half bad. Not stunning by any stretch of the imagination, but apparently good enough for a tug on the old sausage.

I pulled on my bra and panties and smiled again at my reflection. I had a whole newfound confidence this morning. I finished dressing and walked out. Dale was awake and watching TV.

"Good morning," I chirped.

Dale looked over and smiled.

"You're cheerful today," he commented.

"Good night's sleep will do that to a girl," I grinned. "How'd you sleep?"

It was a dig, but he didn't know it.

"Great, actually," he smiled. "I was really tired."

"I bet," I replied.

I was having a hard time not giggling. Dale swung the covers off and climbed out of bed.

"Guess I'd better get ready to go, huh?"

"Yup," I said. "We have to make it an early night tonight, remember?"

Dale groaned.

"I really don't want to have to get up at 4 a.m. tomorrow."

"You're the one who booked it," I reminded him.

"That's all that was available," Dale called from the bathroom as he walked in. "There's only one train per day."

"That sucks," I yelled after him, settling down to flick through the Italian TV channels.

The sound of the shower drowned out my words as well as the TV. Five minutes later, the water stopped, and an Italian horror movie blared out of the television. I quickly reached for the remote to turn it down, but I didn't reach it before a woman's scream ripped through the hotel room. Dale shot out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped haphazardly around his waist. He looked at me, then at the television as the screaming continued.

"Sorry," I chuckled. "Didn't mean for that to happen. I was just channel surfing."

Dale relaxed.

"I thought maybe someone like Bryan had walked in the door," he said solemnly.

"No, nothing like that," I smiled, "and thank you for at least grabbing a towel."

Dale looked down.

"Right," he said.

He headed back into the bathroom and emerged a few minutes later, dressed and ready to go.

"Better?" he asked.

"Sure," I replied noncommittally. "Whatever."

Dale blinked and wrinkled his brow at me.

"What?"

"Nothing," I giggled, rising to get my purse. "Forget it."

"Right," said Dale suspiciously.

"Shall we head out?" I asked.

Dale nodded, and off we went.

That little exchange was pretty typical for the day. One or the other of us would make some sort of ambiguous remark, and the other would try to delve for more meaning without result. It was a sexually charged game of cat-and-mouse, and by the end of the day, we were both driven to a fever-pitch of erotic tension.

It didn't help that there had been a lot more physical contact than normal on this particular day. I had been 'accidentally' brushing various body parts against Dale all day. He never reacted strongly, but I imagine the contact did add another layer to the game.

We decided to have an early dinner, since we had to be up early. We found a boisterous place off of a small side street that looked like it had good food and good company. We wound up at a tiny corner table for two – obviously meant to give lovers a bit of privacy. The server took our orders, brought us glasses of wine, and left us alone.

"So what was your favorite part of today?" I asked Dale as I swirled the crimson wine in my glass.

Dale looked thoughtful.

"Probably...," he hesitated.

"Probably... what?" I probed.

"ProbablyDavid, if you're speaking in the tourist sense," he responded, speaking of Michelangelo's sculpture.

"And if I'm speaking in the non-tourist sense?" I prodded further, leaning forward expectantly.

"I don't know," he said. "I don't know why I said that."

I felt disappointed, but the game was still on.

"What about you?" Dale asked. "What was your favorite part?"

"In the tourist sense or the non-tourist sense?" I teased him.

"Ummm... non-tourist sense."

"Oh. Well, in that case, I have no idea, because I don't know what you mean by non-tourist sense."

"I just meant... I guess I meant from a local point of view, someone who's lived here all their life and knows every corner of the city and doesn't even see the beauty any more. Something like that."

"Not quite sure I follow," I replied.

"Well, like, you and me. We know our hometown backward and forward, and we can't look at it with fresh eyes any more. To someone who visits, it's a nice city – they see it in the tourist sense. But to us, it's just 'home,' and we see it in the non-tourist sense. Something really has to jump out at us for us to notice it."

"Like what would jump out at us?" I asked, still slightly confused.

"What if something just appeared overnight? Say, a new three-story building right next to the high school by the time we got back? That would be something we'd notice."

"OK, but I'm still confused. I understand what you mean now, but how can we view Florence in a non-tourist sense? Neither of us has ever been here before."

Dale shrugged.

"Like I said, I don't know why I said that. Just a stupid comment, I guess."

"Oh," I stated blankly. "OK."

We sat quietly for a moment. I finally broke the silence.

"I guess I can kind of see Florence in a non-tourist sense. I mean, take this place for example. We've never been here before, but obviously the locals love it. On the other hand, I don't know how many locals were standing in the museum today, but from the number of languages I heard, I'd say not too many."

"That's what I mean!" Dale said, pounding his hand on the table. "You got it."

"OK, great," I grinned. "So what was your favorite non-tourist thing today?"

Dale jumped. I guess he hadn't expected that question.

"Oh, well, umm... hmm...," he replied. "Give me a second to think about it."

I nodded, and we both leaned back as our server brought dinner. The plates held steaming mounds of pasta, and the smell was fantastic.

"Grazi," we acknowledged, and the server disappeared.

"I guess... I guess it would have to be just walking down the street with you," Dale finally said. "I know it's not really a non-tourist thing in the sense that we just discussed, but I couldn't have felt less like a tourist with you next to me. You make me feel like I can be at home anywhere."

I blushed beet red. It was the nicest compliment I had ever been given, and I didn't really know how to respond.

"Thank you," I said in a hushed voice. "I like being here with you, too."

Dale didn't hear me over the noisy crowd.

"What?" he asked.

"I said, thank you," I repeated more loudly.

"I thought you said more than that," Dale said, frowning.

I dismissed him with a wave of my hand.

"It was nothing – not important."

"Oh," said Dale, disappointed. "So you gonna tell me what your favorite non-tourist thing was? I told you mine."

I nodded, sipping my wine.

"I think my favorite non-tourist thing would be watching you get excited over all the gardens, naming the flowers and plants. I never knew you knew so much about them, and... I don't know... I love listening to you tell me about them. Everything seems more beautiful."

We had visited gardens in nearly every city we had visited, because Dale's ultimate goal was to become a professional landscape artist/horticulturist.

Now it was Dale's turn to feel a bit embarrassed.

"Thanks," he said. "You really like listening to me babble on about boring old plants?"

"Yeah, I do," I replied earnestly. "If it was anyone else, I probably wouldn't care. But it's nice having someone around who can explain all these special plants to me. How else would I know?"

"I guess," Dale shrugged. "I thought I was probably boring you to tears."

I shook my head.

"Not at all. You're definitely better than some guide who doesn't know how I think or what I like to hear."

"Thanks," he said again. "It's nice to know someone doesn't think I'm a complete fag for liking plants."

"Who thinks you're a fag?" I asked defensively.

"Bryan, for one."

"Well, we know how intelligent Bryan is, so he doesn't count. Who else?"

"Brad... and I think Jared thinks it, even if he doesn't say it."

"Well, Brad just goes along with whatever Bryan says, and Jared can get fucked, if that's what he thinks. It's your life and your career and they can all go to hell."

Just the thought of people picking on my Dale pissed me off. I couldn't imagine why they would think such horrible things about him, let alone actually tell him that. I shook my head.

"Well, at least you have faith in me," Dale concluded. "They haven't changed my mind yet, have they?"

"No, and I hope they never do," I stated bluntly. "You're good with plants... I remember those beautiful flowers you grew for last year's Prom bouquet with what's-her-name."

"Katie," Dale reminded me softly.

I knew darn well what her name was, but I hated saying it.

"Right... her. They were gorgeous. Everyone thought so, but only Katie and I knew you had grown them yourself from seed."

Dale shook his head.

"Katie didn't believe me. She thought I'd bought it. She never did trust me. One of the many reasons we had to break up."

I could tell Dale was getting depressed, so I changed the subject.

"OK, we need to cheer you up. We know what your favorite thing in Florence was... what's been your favorite part of the trip so far, overall?"

"Hmm...," said Dale thoughtfully. "In the tourist sense or the non-tourist sense?"

"Shut up," I giggled, wrinkling my nose at him. "Whichever you like."

"Tourist sense – the Tuileries. Non-tourist sense – being here with you is still tops. What about you?"

"Tourist and non-tourist sense – right now. This day has been the best day of the trip so far."

"I won't ask what the worst part of the trip has been," Dale mused. "But I will ask this: what would you most like to do if we could do the trip over again?"

"The Eiffel Tower," I promptly responded. "I didn't enjoy the view at all because of Bryan, and you didn't even get to see it. What about you?"

Dale nodded.

"I like that... but I think I would go farther back and just not invite Bryan in the first place. I'd still want to split from Brad and Jared, but without the unpleasant stuff before."

"Fair enough," I agreed. "But why would you want to split?"

"Because," Dale explained as the waiter cleared our plates, "if they were here, I couldn't be sitting here talking like this with you. And you said it yourself, this has been your favorite day so far."

"Well, yeah, but that doesn't mean you have to want to get rid of your friends. For all I know, this still would have been my favorite part of the trip."

"Yeah, but I like it just being you and me. No interruptions, nobody hauling me off to meet some flirty Italian chick, nobody giving me hell about wanting to spend time with you."

"They give you hell for that?" I asked.

That surprised me. It had never occurred to me that Dale was taking flak for spending time with me. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense, though. I wasn't attractive enough to be one of Bryan's socially acceptable groupies, and Brad had once told Dale that if he stopped hanging out with me, he'd probably have more girlfriends. I was flattered. Dale was choosing me over his other friends.

"All the time," Dale nodded as our after-dinner espresso arrived.

"Why?" I inquired. "They don't like me?"

"It's not that... it's just that they don't understand why I hang out with you. They don't understand the... I dunno... the way we connect, I guess. How we can sit and talk for hours. I don't like the shallow girls they try and hook me up with. I like you; you're deeper."

"I try," I grinned. "I'm sure I have my moments."

"Probably," smiled Dale, "but I never notice them if you do. To me, you're perfect. Everything a guy should want."

"Yeah, but they don't," I reminded him. "They want some pretty little thing with a French accent... or, barring that, some chick who'll put out on the second date."

"I'll never understand that," said Dale. "So many girls say they value their reputations, and then they turn around and act like sluts. I don't get it at all."

"Don't ask me," I shrugged. "I'm not that way."

"I know," he smiled again. "One of the many reasons I like you."

"Oh?" I asked.

I knew I was about to cross a line, but I figured what the hell.

"So why else do you like me?"

It was a loaded question, but Dale didn't flinch.

"Well, I've already said you're deeper than most girls, and you have morals. You're smart, funny, kind, generous, and absolutely beautiful. You know how to laugh, but you also know how to cry. I've seen you cry at a sappy movie, and I've felt you grab my arm at a horror flick. You love animals, you believe in God, you're motivated toward your goals..."

Dale trailed off as he realized I was staring at him wide-eyed.

"What's wrong?" he asked, alarmed.

I laughed.

"You're going to think I'm an idiot, asking this after all the other nice things you said, but... you... you think I'm beautiful?"

Dale looked surprised as he reflected on his soliloquy. Then he reached across the table for my hand. I gave it to him, and he squeezed it gently.

"I think you're one of the most beautiful women I've ever laid eyes on," he said softly. "I know you think you're plain, but you're not. Your eyes have a magnificent, confident sparkle; your smile brightens my day, even if I just see it from across the room. Your body is...."

He trailed off again, embarrassed. I didn't prod. I knew from the other night what my body could do to him. I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. I had never in a million years thought Dale would say something like this to me – not in reality, anyway. Dale rubbed the back of my hand with his thumb.

"Thank you," I whispered. "Thank you... so much. It means a lot to know you think I'm pretty."

Dale nodded and released my hand.

"You're my best friend," he shrugged. "I never want to lose you."

I deflated. As Dale paid for the dinner and coffee, I wondered what had just happened. Had Dale been telling me he loved me, or was it merely the affection of a best friend? I was confused, but the thread of conversation was lost.

"Ready to head back?" Dale asked

I nodded, still without words. We slipped out the door of the noisy restaurant into the quieter thrum of the Florentine streets. Dale kept looking over at me during the bus ride back to the hotel, but I was lost in my thoughts, staring out the window.

When we finally got back to the hotel room, Dale went into the bathroom to get ready for bed. I followed shortly and emerged wearing my now-typical T-shirt and thong. Dale was lying on his bed, browsing through the channels. When he saw me come out of the bathroom, he scooted over on the bed and patted the spot next to him.

I walked over and sat down on the edge of his bed. There was no room for me to lie next to him unless I practically lay on top of him, and given the ambiguity of our earlier conversation, I wasn't about to make a move.