anything…I’ve just only ever pictured him doing manly, active tasks in his spare time, like refinishing floors or fucking the living daylights out of me.
I sit down on the couch, an old, comfy, mauve monstrosity half-hidden by a colorful afghan. Patrick goes to the hearth and assembles a fire. I know that sounds romantic but I’m almost positive that’s his primary heating method. He’s got a woodstove in his kitchen too. He’s such a lumbercrat.
“Well,” I finally say, watching his back as he gets the flames going. “Jay seems to be taking it pretty well, actually.”
He pulls the wire screen over the fireplace and comes to sit on the couch, a couple feet between us as a buffer. He takes a deep drink and clears his throat. “Seems to be?”
“Yeah, but like legitimately well.”
“I gotta say, I’m impressed.”
I nod. “Me too. Oh, he said we have permission to do everything but. You know, intercourse.”
“All right.”
“He’s sort of into it, now, actually,” I add, wondering immediately if I just shared too much private info about Jay. Then again, he’s sharing me. That’s pretty private.
“Into it, like…”
“Like it turns him on,” I say. “He likes that I’m over here torturing you, I guess.”
“Oh.”
I laugh and take a drink. “Like he’s got some super-amazing car he’ll let you test-drive, but only because he knows you’ll never actually own one yourself and he wants to lord it over you.”
Patrick laughs too. “Kinky.”
“How do you want to do this?”
“Tonight?” he asks. “I was figuring we’d treat it like a date. But if that’s too romantic, we don’t have to.” His gaze drops to my outfit, first-date fare if ever you saw it.
“Maybe more like friends to start out,” I say. “I know I’m sort of over-dressed. That was Jay’s idea. This is like him waxing his super-amazing car.”
Patrick smiles, looking happily puzzled. “You’re a weird couple.”
“So I’m realizing.”
“But sure, friends is fine.”
“Thanks.” I look at the clock. “In that case, can we watch channel five?”
It takes Patrick a second to realize I’m serious then he gets up and switches his late-model television on. We catch most of the first round of Jeopardy! and we drink our wine and shout answers at Alex Trebek. During the ads and the boring part where Alex talks to the contestants we go into the kitchen and dole out the food.
I like being Patrick Whelan’s friend again, sitting on his squishy old couch, watching Jeopardy! , eating Thanksgiving-y food and drinking wine with him. Knowing what dessert’s going to be.
We eat fast and while the contestants are deliberating over Final Jeopardy, Patrick heads to the kitchen and comes back with the bottle. He guessed the answer right and I didn’t, so I clink my refilled glass against his.
He looks over at me, shifty.
“What?” I ask, knowing damn well what.
He takes my wine and sets it on the coffee table beside our dirty plates and clicks off the TV. The room smells like New England winter and I hear the wood popping in the fireplace. He scoots over a cushion and puts his hands to my face.
Patrick tastes of red wine and gravy tonight. He kisses me deep, just as he did in the parking lot, his mouth rough and urgent and dominating. I hold on to his shoulders, hard and strong behind his sweater. For the first time, I worry that I won’t be able to keep my promise to Jay and stop at third base. Patrick’s been kissing me for thirty seconds and I’m already feeling crazed. I push my shoes off onto the floor and break away from him long enough to half recline. He takes my hint, getting one knee between mine and wedging the other in the crease of the couch.
He lowers and I feel all that weight on me. He’s the biggest man I’ve ever been with by far and it’s sinful, his size. I want him to rip me apart like one of those bears with a taste for human meat.
“God,” I mutter against his mouth.
I sit down on the couch, an old, comfy, mauve monstrosity half-hidden by a colorful afghan. Patrick goes to the hearth and assembles a fire. I know that sounds romantic but I’m almost positive that’s his primary heating method. He’s got a woodstove in his kitchen too. He’s such a lumbercrat.
“Well,” I finally say, watching his back as he gets the flames going. “Jay seems to be taking it pretty well, actually.”
He pulls the wire screen over the fireplace and comes to sit on the couch, a couple feet between us as a buffer. He takes a deep drink and clears his throat. “Seems to be?”
“Yeah, but like legitimately well.”
“I gotta say, I’m impressed.”
I nod. “Me too. Oh, he said we have permission to do everything but. You know, intercourse.”
“All right.”
“He’s sort of into it, now, actually,” I add, wondering immediately if I just shared too much private info about Jay. Then again, he’s sharing me. That’s pretty private.
“Into it, like…”
“Like it turns him on,” I say. “He likes that I’m over here torturing you, I guess.”
“Oh.”
I laugh and take a drink. “Like he’s got some super-amazing car he’ll let you test-drive, but only because he knows you’ll never actually own one yourself and he wants to lord it over you.”
Patrick laughs too. “Kinky.”
“How do you want to do this?”
“Tonight?” he asks. “I was figuring we’d treat it like a date. But if that’s too romantic, we don’t have to.” His gaze drops to my outfit, first-date fare if ever you saw it.
“Maybe more like friends to start out,” I say. “I know I’m sort of over-dressed. That was Jay’s idea. This is like him waxing his super-amazing car.”
Patrick smiles, looking happily puzzled. “You’re a weird couple.”
“So I’m realizing.”
“But sure, friends is fine.”
“Thanks.” I look at the clock. “In that case, can we watch channel five?”
It takes Patrick a second to realize I’m serious then he gets up and switches his late-model television on. We catch most of the first round of Jeopardy! and we drink our wine and shout answers at Alex Trebek. During the ads and the boring part where Alex talks to the contestants we go into the kitchen and dole out the food.
I like being Patrick Whelan’s friend again, sitting on his squishy old couch, watching Jeopardy! , eating Thanksgiving-y food and drinking wine with him. Knowing what dessert’s going to be.
We eat fast and while the contestants are deliberating over Final Jeopardy, Patrick heads to the kitchen and comes back with the bottle. He guessed the answer right and I didn’t, so I clink my refilled glass against his.
He looks over at me, shifty.
“What?” I ask, knowing damn well what.
He takes my wine and sets it on the coffee table beside our dirty plates and clicks off the TV. The room smells like New England winter and I hear the wood popping in the fireplace. He scoots over a cushion and puts his hands to my face.
Patrick tastes of red wine and gravy tonight. He kisses me deep, just as he did in the parking lot, his mouth rough and urgent and dominating. I hold on to his shoulders, hard and strong behind his sweater. For the first time, I worry that I won’t be able to keep my promise to Jay and stop at third base. Patrick’s been kissing me for thirty seconds and I’m already feeling crazed. I push my shoes off onto the floor and break away from him long enough to half recline. He takes my hint, getting one knee between mine and wedging the other in the crease of the couch.
He lowers and I feel all that weight on me. He’s the biggest man I’ve ever been with by far and it’s sinful, his size. I want him to rip me apart like one of those bears with a taste for human meat.
“God,” I mutter against his mouth.
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