by Jamie Knight
While I was able to get some respite from this depressing, anxiety-inducing train of thought by thinking about Tommy, the young lawyer I was able to help this morning with preparing for an interview, I’m not able to escape that dark cloud. Not completely.
I have tension everywhere in my body, every time I think about Dennis. Every time I even get the smallest glimpse of his portrait on my desk, I tighten. I feel like I can’t breathe.
This is why the minute I’m able, I head out to my car and head to one of my favorite restaurants for lunch. It’s a Cajun/French Creole restaurant, called The Happy Alligator.
It’s one of those “hole in the wall” type places, but it’s good. I like the influence of French cuisine along with Cajun and Creole. It’s spicier, deeper and livelier than a lot of things in typical French cuisine. It’s also a much more laid-back affair, being cooked by people with “soul” rather than elaborate manuals and traditions about how it should be done.
Aside from this restaurant being my go-to place when I’m feeling out of sorts and in need of comfort, if I didn’t go out for food today, I’d go nuts. If I had to spend one more moment in that office, even if it was eating, I’d lose my mind. My thoughts would just keep going back to Dennis, with nothing to break it up.
As I pull out of the parking lot and onto the main road that leads to downtown Manhattan, and The Happy Alligator, my mind drifts to Tommy. How he looked so handsome in his suit this morning. How fastidious and no-nonsense he was, even in a suit and tie, that was much too big for him and much too frumpy.
I smile, thinking how cute that is. He’s not your typical Greek God example of beauty, not like Dennis, but to me, that’s what makes him even more adorable and even more handsome and unique and delightful.
Tommy’s body size, while a lot taller and muscular than Dennis’s or any other man I’ve ever been remotely attracted to, is interesting to me as well. There are a lot of women drawn to towering men, and even though he’s so tall I doubt I could kiss him without him having to lean way, way down, I can see the attraction now.
I don’t even mind that his clothes weren’t spectacular because it’s something that someone like Dennis — a man who is virtually obsessed with maintaining a flawless physical appearance and projecting a completely put-together image to the world at all times — can never and would never be able to pull off while looking so handsome.
Oops.
I shouldn’t be comparing my boyfriend to Tommy.
But I can’t seem to help it.
I smile, thinking about Tommy’s big, brown, warm eyes, his gentle-giant aura, despite having a driven personality and a way of holding himself that can be standoffish. Despite this, he exudes innocence. An innocence that just begs to play dirty.
In my head, I imagine him looking to me for guidance and for an “initiation” into my world. That way of love. I wonder if a big, strong man like that could dominate me in the bedroom.
I imagine brushing my hand along his big, thick cock.
First in his underwear, then bare.
I imagine the way Tommy moans at me.
He gasps at me, shows me those big brown eyes and says something like, “Melissa, I’ve never felt this way before. I’ve never done anything like this before, and it feels amazing. You’ve shown me the door to one of the greatest treasures on earth. Love for myself. Love radiating out of me. Love for who I can be, and who I am.”
I giggle to myself. In my head, I see him naked. I imagine his hard and heavy cock standing straight up. It must be really big, just like the rest of his body is.
I imagine how much I’ve gotten him hot. How much he’s losing his cool around me, and I love it. I’m usually the one doing and feeling these things about Dennis.
But not here. Not now.
Right now, I get to be the one who knows exactly what I want, and that’s Tommy. I get to be the one to show him how to use his power to dominate a woman in the way that he should, because he is a towering and commanding presence.
“That’s my job, Tommy. As someone who loves and cares for you, and thinks you’re sexy just the way you are, it’s my job to show you just how lovable you are. How strong you are. How powerful and important you are, regardless of anyone and everyone else.”
As I imagine myself saying these things, I also imagine that I’m kissing him on the mouth, before getting down on my knees in front of him and kissing his cock, next. I lick the head and shaft all the way down and all the way up.
In my head, I hear Tommy beginning to sigh and moan. His fingers run into my hair, grabbing hold of the strands, not hard, just tight enough that my head is held in place before him.
“I’ve been waiting for someone like you, Melissa. Someone safe. Someone kind and patient. Gentle.”
I imagine he sucks in an adorable breath here, and shivers. I feel it in his hands, just as I bring my lips closer to the tip of his gorgeously long, thick cock, waiting for me to suck it.
“Nonjudgmental. Everyone else seems to make a big deal about what kind of clothes I wear or how tall I am compared to other people, but not you.”
Just as I’m about to answer, say something along the lines of, “Of course. I know what it’s like to need love. I also know what it is like to be judged and to be overlooked because of what people see or think about you,” my attention returns to real life and the fact that I’m behind the wheel of my car, and not only that, but I’m about to run into some guy who’s just stopped very quickly in front of a stoplight.
I hit the brakes, coming to a screeching halt in my car and in my misguided fantasies. I murmur a curse as I barely missed hitting him and getting hit by a car behind me.
“This is exactly why one shouldn’t drive distracted,” I say to myself, “and why I shouldn’t be thinking that way. God is getting back at me for thinking about anyone other than Dennis.”
As the car in front of me pulls forward with the changing of the light, and traffic gets moving again, I feel terrible. I feel dirty for the thoughts, even if that’s all they are: thoughts.
As I slowly make my way through the rest of downtown and toward a parking lot close to the restaurant, I tell myself Dennis deserves better than that. He deserves to be the focus of all my fantasies. All my desire. All my hunger and interest.
“He doesn’t seem all that interested or hungry for me, though,” I whisper bitterly, turning into the parking structure. “He doesn’t seem happy or grateful that I’ve been with him for over a year and have been trying to do long distance. None of that seems to matter to him, so why should it matter to me?”
As I throw my car into park and walk the short distance from the parking lot to the Happy Alligator — a restaurant with a ridiculously quirky sign and delicious smells emanating from it no matter what time of day or night — I think, Because you’re better than that. You’re not so mercurial as that. So what if Dennis can’t be bothered to show interest or be hungry for you? Does that give you the right to have thoughts about someone else?
I cross my arms, stomping down the sidewalk, still feeling rejected.
No. But I have a right to want to feel appreciated, don’t I? I have the right to want to feel and be acknowledged for my efforts, don’t I?
As I jostle for a position by the door to The Happy Alligator, I remember how thankful Tommy looked this morning. For me. For my skills with his wardrobe and his hair. How honestly and legitimately touched he seemed by my words, by the effort I made for him.
Tommy made me feel appreciated. He made me feel acknowledged and important. Like I have something to give that someone needs.
As I step into the familiar dark and sultry entryway to The Happy Alligator, filled with spices and the buttery, greasy smell of frying sausage and crawfish, my mind is still on him, Tommy.
There’s nothing wrong with that. There’s nothing wrong with liking or thinking about someone when they’ve shown appreciation for you, is there?
No
, says the rational part of my mind. The part of my mind that is still mad and preoccupied over Dennis’s lack of interest in our video chat this morning.
There’s nothing wrong with that. Nothing dirty or bad.
Just as another part of my mind, a more anxious, more self-judgmental part of me is about to speak up and say I’m just rationalizing something I should — and quite obviously do —feel guilty about, given that my fears about Dennis possibly seeing another woman are just that — fears — and that I’ve actually done something worse by imagining Tommy as an object of any affection — my eyes catch a face I’m not expecting to see here.
Tommy’s.
He’s sitting in a booth along one side of the restaurant, the one closer to the games and jukebox this place is also famous for. He’s alone at the moment, but it looks like there’s a place set up for someone else.
For a second, our eyes don’t meet. He’s too busy looking somewhere else, at a menu, or at the tabletop. But the moment they do, I feel the electricity between us.
It feels something like bubbling or floating or the way air bubbles in a pot of water might feel when heated. I feel excited. Like I’ve been walking around with some part of me missing, and he’s been the puzzle piece I didn’t know I needed.
There’s nothing wrong with coincidences, either. If God stopped me from thinking about another man while driving, he also brought me here. Now. Today.
Tommy waves me over, and I can’t help but smile. I feel like I’m being drawn to him like I’m a part of his soul connected to him by a gossamer string.
And I’m going to go over and talk to him. Just a little bit. Just to see how his interview went. Nothing more. Nothing less.
I think this, but my heart already feels differently. We’ve got some kind of connection, Tommy and me. And it’s nothing less than divinely guided. I feel that as I make my way up to his table.
He looks at me with those big brown eyes and says, “Hi.”
I’m breathless.
Never has one word meant so much.
“Hi.”
Chapter Twelve - Tommy
There she is.
Melissa.
As if I’ve somehow subconsciously summoned her, she’s standing right there in front of my table.
For a moment, all I can do is stare at her.
I drink in her curvy figure and slightly sharp features. Her black hair, pale skin, and bright blue eyes are like magnets to me. They draw at me, even when all she’s said is, “Hi.”
For a moment, we do nothing but stare at each other. I can’t be sure, but I think I see a little bit of color on her cheeks, a slight tremble to her lips, and a bit of flushing on her neck and chest. I’m not sure what it is, but I get the feeling she’s just as surprised and happy to see me as I am to see her.
I clear my throat, reminding myself that I have other things to do besides stare at her wordlessly, like thank her and quickly, before my boss gets back from the bathroom. Serendipitously, she’s come over just as Ms. Vanacore’s stepped away.
But my new boss won’t be gone long, and from what I know of her already, she’s not going to allow Melissa and me to keep chitchatting with her sitting right there.
In my first few hours with Vanacore, I’ve learned one thing very clearly: when she’s here, you’re here. When she’s giving time to you, you better give yours back. Otherwise, she’s going to get nasty with you.
“Um,” I say, made breathless by how much attention Melissa instantly gives me, “I wanted to thank you, Melissa.”
“Thank me?”
Her eyebrows arch.
Her eyes widen, and her lips stretch into a bit of a smile.
“What for?”
Internally, I smile and blush. I know she knows what I’m thanking her for, but I also know she’s teasing me. She’s acting humble for my benefit.
Out loud, I say, “For your help before my interview.”
A look of knowledge — though I have a feeling she already knew what I meant — dawns on her face. It spreads across her playfully beautiful features like a sunrise across the ocean.
“Oh, yes! That interview! How did it go?”
This time I can’t suppress my smile.
“I got it,” I say.
Melissa squeals. Not as loudly as some women do, but loud enough to get some of the conversations in the room to die down. She claps in a way that matches her squeal.
She says, “Wonderful! That’s worth celebrating! Worth going out to eat for!”
And I can’t help but think that her mouth forms those words beautifully. Though I think that with those lips, and how full and luscious they are, anything would sound good coming out of them.
“It probably wouldn’t have happened without your last-minute style and organizational help,” I say, really feeling that way.
Part of me knows that I got the job because Vanacore wanted me to have the job. She wanted me to be the one near her, but that doesn’t diminish Melissa’s contribution. It wasn’t just organizational or stylistic.
It was emotional as well, but I don’t feel like I can tell her that. That’s too personal. That’s too emotional for me right now, or in this situation, where I’m in a restaurant waiting for my boss.
So instead, I say, “You really helped me get my head on straight. You helped me to relax and keep my nerves down.”
I look at her with these words, hoping she reads more in my eyes.
The truth.
How loved and cared for I felt under her knowledgeable fingers, and artistic eye.
I smile.
“Thank you,” I repeat. “I know it’s not in your job description to help people get ready for their interviews, but I think it really made a big difference. I’m working in a different office today because of you. I’m getting closer to being a practicing lawyer because of you, Melissa.”
I clear my throat, watching Melissa blush.
She looks away from me shyly.
“It’s nothing. Really,” she says, but I can tell it’s everything.
Again, she’s just being modest. For my benefit, probably hers, as well. The way she smiles, it’s filled with nerves as well as excitement. Fear and joy at the same time.
“I just did what I would want to be done to me if I was experiencing one of the biggest, most important decisions of my life.” She pauses. “I simply paid forward what was done for me once upon a time.”
Instantly, I get the sense that there’s more to these words than she’s letting on. That they have to do in some way with the picture on her desk — with the man enshrined and immortalized in that frame, but I don’t ask about that. I don’t allow myself to think about it.
But what I do allow myself to think and feel is how much I don’t like it when she diminishes her role and her contribution.
“You really did go out of your way for me, though. Repaid kindness or paying it forward, whatever you want to call it; all of that aside, you didn’t have to help me the way you did. You didn’t have to become my impromptu stylist, and you didn’t have to say and do all the things you did to pump me up before my interview.”
Melissa looks like a teenage girl who has just gotten caught picking a rosebush to leave the flowers for her beloved. It’s a “you got me,” a “you saw through me” kind of look and posture.
“You didn’t have to do any of that, and yet you did. And it’s because of you that I got the job. That I impressed Ms. Vanacore, after everyone else was so unimpressive in comparison,” I say. “So, sincerely, thank you.”
I pause, feeling my heart swell with something, something protective and heavy like a blanket. The swelling feeling comes from something I see in her eyes. Some dried-over injury. Some shredded bit of confidence haunting her.
“I mean it. If anyone ever tells you that you don’t do much or asks you ‘what did you do? You’re just the secretary,’ I want you to know you’re not just the secretary. You do
a lot more than just answer phones. You certainly did for me, Melissa. And I want to thank you for that.”
Melissa looks speared through the heart by my words about not being “just the secretary” and for a brief moment, I regret saying anything. She looks agonized, but then the agony vanishes, to be replaced by tenderness.
“You’re too kind, Tommy,” she says. “All I did was straighten your clothes, help you organize some papers, and let you know you could be dressing a bit better than you are. I didn’t change your fate or fortune.”
“You did, whether you want to accept that or not,” I say, looking over toward the bathroom, expecting to see Vanacore at any moment.
I flick my eyes back to Melissa, hoping she didn’t notice I was looking elsewhere. I wish we were here under different circumstances and could eat alone together. But that’s not the case and I have to stay focused on my new job before I lose it.
I clear my throat.
“Anyway. As a way to say thanks, I’d like to pay for your meal.”
Melissa looks shot by a bullet now, not just speared.
“Oh, no! No.” She’s smiling, but it goes along with a nervous, unworthy look on her face. “No, I couldn’t possibly! You just got your promotion. Don’t waste your money on me, Tommy, I—”
I feel another sensation well out of my chest. Where the other one was protective and warm, this one is commanding and dominating, but in a loving way. Before I have time to think about what I’m doing or saying, I’m rising out of my seat a bit, holding her with my gaze.
“You can and will enjoy a meal and a drink on me, Melissa.”
What she sees in my eyes, I can’t tell.
But I can see she’s not scared by it.
Just surprised.
“If you’re anything like me, you never get invited out anywhere. To any dinners or weddings that happen around here. So, enjoy yourself. Enjoy a meal and a drink on me. It’s the least I can do for the woman who helped me so much when I needed it the most,” I say.
I know I’m repeating myself now. I just want her to know how grateful I truly am. And when she smiles that smile that’s a mixture of sweet and sexy, I know my goal has been met.