by Matt Tims
“It’s…it’s…” she struggled to admit to what she’d done.
Mike dug in for another forkful. “I love it!”
“It’s…it’s…crunchy…” she finally said.
Mike slowly took another bite, laboring to get it down. “It’s fantastic!”
“I made…crunchy pasta…” Claire muttered in disbelief while looking back down at her plate.
“Hey, hey, hey, it happens, okay?” he did his best to keep her calm. Her frantic look was the last thing he wanted to see. “Pasta isn’t easy make.”
“What?” she asked.
“Pasta,” Mike reiterated. “It can be tough to make.”
“No, it isn’t,” she shamefully rebutted, her tone shy and sheepish. “It’s easy to make. That’s why I made it.”
“Honestly, Claire? I don’t think a lot of people would even be able to tell. It still tastes great!” he told her.
“No, it doesn’t.” Her voice was beginning to have a whimper to it. “How did this happen? I made sure it was done—”
Her stomach abruptly dropped.
No, you didn’t, dumbass! How stupid are you, Claire? You were so worried about everything else being perfect, that you forgot to check if the pasta was even cooked before you turned off the stove! Are you even a woman? How worthless are you?
“And the bread is awesome!” Mike said while lifting a slice to his mouth. “I haven’t had french bread in forever!”
Claire looked like she had shell shock. “I ruined pasta…”
“Nooooooo, no, you didn’t! Everything’s great!” he reassured her.
“I need a minute,” she said, standing up and hurrying to the bathroom. She locked the door behind her and slowly approached the sink, resting her hands on the ceramic surface. Her eyes struggled to look up; and when they finally did, she observed her petrified reflection in the mirror. Bob’s voice was deafening in her head.
Ha! Oh my God, what a worthless cunt you are! Pasta? You fucked up pasta!? See why I treated you the way I did? You’re not good at anything. In fact, there’s only one thing you’re halfway decent at it; so go out there, suck his dick, and try to show at least a little value as a woman. Or you can come back home. I’m still waiting, sweetheart. Sure, you’re gonna have to deal with the belt, but you know that. We’ll get it out of the way and move on from your mistake. I’m waiting…
Maybe Bob was right? What if she actually was worthless? She’d blamed her father for the way her life turned out, but perhaps Dad was just trying to look out for her. Could Dad have just been trying to protect her from the real world all along? What if she was a grown woman who needed to be treated like a child? She couldn’t even make pasta! And they were sitting at a card table with paper plates! Why didn’t he laugh in her face and leave? He was a handsome, funny, great guy who was obviously wasting his time with her.
Just end it, Claire! On the off chance that Mike is actually different from those other guys, he’s eventually going to see you for what you are. He’s going to find another flaw every time you two spend time together. Do you think he’s going to want to deal with your inability to cook, clean, and your general lack of common sense? Guess what? Men aren’t into ditzes. You’re not in high school anymore! Boys like ditzy girls. Men like grown women. Claire, you’re just a ditzy little girl.
Mike knocked on the bathroom door. “You alright in there?”
“Yeah, I’ll-I’ll be out in a minute,” she said, still staring at her reflection.
“Okay, take your time,” he told her.
Claire collected herself and checked her makeup. Okay, she could do this. She was a big girl. No, she was a grown woman. Her pasta was a simple mistake that she could easily make right.
She opened the door and headed back to the little table setup. The three slices of bread on her date’s plate immediately jumped out at her when she took a seat.
“This bread is phenomenal.”
She shook her head with an embarrassed laugh. “Let’s go get something to eat.”
“No, Claire, I’m good,” he said, chomping on the slice in his hand.
“No, you aren’t,” she argued. “And it’s my treat. It’s the least I can do.”
Mike finished his piece before looking back at her. “I actually had a different idea.”
Here we go, Claire. You know what he wants, don’t you? He wants the same thing all the others did once they realized just how useless you really are. Are you going to give it to him? Of course you are, Claire. You know your real value.
“So, I was thinking…” Mike smirked.
What do you think is on his mind, Claire?
“It was 1997 when we were fifteen years old,” he said.
She shot him a curious look. “What?”
“It was 1997 when we were fifteen,” he repeated. “So, what would we be doing if our fifteen-year-old selves dated in 1997?”
Drop to your knees, slut.
She nervously waited.
“Watching a movie!” Mike smiled.
“A-a-a movie?” Her stuttering voice reflected her surprised reaction perfectly. Watching a movie was the last thing she’d expected to hear.
“Yeah, we would’ve gone to the movies,” he said.
“Yeah…” she smiled back. “Yeah, we-we probably would’ve.”
“So, let’s watch a movie from 1997!” he announced.
Claire’s face lit up as a result of his fun proposal. She hurried to her bedroom before returning with her laptop. She placed it down on the table, opened the search engine, and typed in ‘1997 movies.’ The first result was a best of list for that year.
Mike moved his chair next to hers and took a seat as they both observed the array of selections. “I’m leaving if you say yes to number one”
“Titanic sucks,” she said before lowering the list.
“You’re perfect,” Mike laughed, turning back to the screen. “Home Alone…3. Because the threequel is always the best…” he sarcastically added.
“Jurassic Park!” Claire excitedly yelled.
“The Lost World…” he groaned. “The worst Jurassic Park.”
She continued to scroll down the list. Suddenly, she stopped and pointed at the screen. When she turned to her right, Mike had his index finger aimed at the laptop as well.
“Are you serious?” he asked.
“Maybe my favorite movie of all-time,” she said.
He asked, “You think we would’ve appreciated it when we were fifteen?”
“There’s no way,” she said while shaking her head. “I know I wouldn’t have.”
He was beginning to wonder if someone had created this perfect woman in a lab. “Alright, let’s watch it.”
She navigated her way through a series of web pages before giving one last click. “I rented it,” she announced before glancing around the kitchen. “Um…how are we…how are we gonna do this?”
Mike grabbed the laptop and disappeared down the hallway.
“Where you going?” she called out.
There wasn’t a response. She hopped out of her seat and followed him toward her bedroom; and when she entered, she saw her laptop sitting on the end of her mattress with Mike lying on his stomach, his face only a foot or so from the screen. She giggled and quickly joined him on her bed.
“I wouldn’t have had a frame or box spring when I was fifteen either if it was my choice,” Mike smiled.
She laughed before starting Boogie Nights. She could get used to date nights like these.
Fifteen Minutes Later.
Buzz.
Claire’s head perked up. “Is that my bell?”
He paused the movie before sliding off the bed. “One minute,” he told her before leaving the room.
…
…
“Great. Keep it. You too.”
She listened to the sound of footsteps approach her bedroom before a big smile grew across her face. “Thank God!”
Mike laughed as he strolled ba
ck to the bed with a pizza box in hand.
“What about my pasta?” she asked with a sarcastic grin. “I thought it was amazing.”
He set the box down on the bed and the two of them dug into it. It didn’t take long for him to lean into her ear and whisper, “It was.”
Chapter 6 – A Fancy Dinner
Three Days Later. Friday. 6:12 PM.
Mike glanced at his reflection in the bathroom mirror and smiled. He was freshly shaven, dressed in a pair of khakis and a collared shirt, and ready for a more serious date. They would indulge in an expensive dinner together, come back to his place, and enjoy each other’s company for who knows how long.
And while fancy dinners weren’t typically his thing, he wanted to treat Claire to something nice. She deserved it. Everything would change after tonight. He couldn’t be any more sure that he’d found the one. This was merely the start of his new life.
You thought you’d found the one seven years ago too, shithead! God, you’re such a sap. Remember when you were crazy about Cindy? Like, two weeks ago? Right up until you found out she fucked some other guy? Do you actually think Claire is going to be any different? It might take a week, it might take a year, or it might take a decade—but she’ll eventually break your heart. Why? Because she’s a woman, and she’s going to bail once she sees the first sign of weakness in you. She’ll find a wealthier, better-looking, more intelligent guy, because you know what? She deserves it. She’s too good for some thirty-five-year-old underachiever who was still dreaming about his high school crush a few weeks ago. Face it, Mike, you aren’t spectacular, and Claire deserves a spectacular man.
He glared into the mirror. That negative voice had been following him around since grade school. The times he didn’t ask girls out, the playoff game against Northridge when he dropped that wide-open touchdown pass to cost his football team a shot at the state title, and the night his dad walked in on him jerking off in the seventh grade: he always heard it. His deep, dark, and fairly self-aware inner voice was constantly reminding him of what a loser he was. Every time he felt good about himself, that voice brought him back to earth, but it wouldn’t stop there. It kept pushing, and pushing, and pushing—trying to bury him as far down as it could.
That’s right. I’m always going to be here so get used to it, pal. And when this broad eventually leaves you, I’ll be right here to remind you that you deserved it! Have a fun date, buddy!
Fuck that voice.
Buzz.
She was here. Claire had texted him thirty minutes ago asking if they could meet at his apartment rather than have him pick her up, and he was perfectly fine with that change in plans. Hey, it meant an extra ten minutes of time together, and he would never turn that down.
Mike skipped out of the bathroom and moved across his apartment floor, floating like a feather. His feet may as well have not touched the ground. Why? Because on the other side of that door was the most amazing girl in the world, and for the next however many hours, she would be all his. And sooner than later, those hours would continue to increase until that incredible woman was always by his side.
His smile swiftly vanished after he opened the door. “Um, didn’t you get my message?”
Claire slipped past him and set a bottle of red wine down on the kitchen table.
“Claire, I’m not sure they’re going to let you in wearing that,” he noted.
She stood in his apartment in a pair of black Nike flip flops, gray sweatpants, and a blue tank top. Was she heading to the gym or just waking up from a nap? Make no mistake about it, Mike was infatuated by the sight he was taking in. The restaurant; however, might not be as love-struck.
He watched his date turn and slowly begin to approach him, increasing her pace with each stride.
“Claire, what are—”
She leapt into his arms, resulting in him catching her and allowing his hands to explore her butt. Sure, he probably could’ve propped her up by her thighs, but he couldn’t pass up on this chance. Her arms and legs wrapped around his body before it happened.
She locked her lips onto his.
Their last date had ended in a drunken, greasy, pepperoni flavored make out session on Claire’s bed. It was the type of date the two should’ve experienced back in high school, but neither had. So, when the pair of thirty-five-year-olds decided to act like teenagers that night, their lust for each other only grew. Mike eventually kissed her good night and walked back to his apartment, taking forty minutes to drunkenly journey the ten minute drive. He wanted to save that moment for when they weren’t drunk. For when both of their breaths didn’t smell like pizza. For when they had a bed with a frame.
He immediately regretted his decision the second he collapsed onto his own bed that night. He didn’t need to be sober, he didn’t need expensive food, and he definitely didn’t need a box spring. The only thing he needed was the girl he was madly in love with. And you could add an apartment, money, and a job to the bottom of the list of things that were important to him. He would live in a sewer with Claire if that’s what she truly desired; and as he attempted to fall asleep, he couldn’t help but hear that voice again.
It’s high school all over again, Mikey. At least this time you had the balls to talk to her. And a make out session? Oh boy! You know, the thing you should’ve done twenty years ago! You’re never gonna pull the trigger! She’s going to wait, and wait, and wait; and when a different, better guy comes along, she’s gonna jump to him. And you’re going to be sitting here all alone, wondering how you blew it again!
Mike had no plans of wimping out tonight; but apparently, Claire decided not to take that chance. She broke off their kiss and moved her mouth to this ear. “We’re not going out tonight.”
“We’re not?” he asked.
“Nope, we’re eating in,” she grinned. “And I have something a lot better than pasta.”
Five Minutes Later.
A trail of clothes tracked from the kitchen—through the narrow hallway—before collecting in front of the now shut bedroom door. A pair of sweatpants here, a collared shirt there; and yes, that’s a flip flop. Pasta, steak, king crab legs: Mike’s list of favorite foods had a new addition. Who knew that something could taste so good?
Claire’s moans grew as she placed her boyfriend’s pillow over her mouth and bit it. Could she call him her boyfriend at this point? It was only date number three, after all. Well, date number four if you counted the coffee shop encounter. Did that qualify though? That was more of a run-in that resulted in a catch up.
Really, Claire? You see why I’m always here? It’s because you’re an idiot! You don’t know if he’s your boyfriend or not? Why don’t you lift that pillow up for a second and tell me what you see?
She raised the pillow and took a peek for herself. When she did, she was greeted by a thick head of brown hair between her legs; and a warm, wet tongue rapidly moving over her clit. If that didn’t qualify as a boyfriend, then she didn’t know what did.
You know what it is, don’t you? You’re afraid of him being your boyfriend because of what every single one of your exes did to you. Did Bob ever even go down on you? Ever? Savor it while it lasts, because it’s only a matter of time until he turns into an asshole. But deep down, you love being treated like shit, don’t you, slut?
Shut up.
Claire allowed her fingers to slide down her body and intertwine with her boyfriend’s—yes, her boyfriend’s—thick, brown hair. A pair of hands moved up her legs and grabbed her hips, holding her in place as his tongue moved from her clit and explored the rest of her vulva. Her muscles begin to contract and she couldn’t tell if she was becoming even more wet, or if it was just the dampness of his mouth. Whatever the case, it wouldn’t take much longer now.
The pillow went back over her face as she felt his tongue make its way to her clit once again. She loudly moaned, “I’m going to cum,” before clenching her teeth around the silk case.
Those were the four greatest words Mike had
ever heard.
Seconds later, Claire exploded in her lover’s mouth, her hips shaking and jolting with every sensation that propelled throughout her body. Someone had dropped a lit match down her throat. An indescribable warmth ran the length of her skin and ended in her curled toes. It was the hardest she’d cum in fifteen years. She was worked over, satisfied, and taken care of without having to move a muscle, and now it was her turn to return the favor.
Mike watched her move to her knees and grin at him, and he couldn’t have been more quick to follow her directions after she pointed to the bed headboard. The next thing he knew, wet lips pressed against the right side of his neck. Claire worked her way further south with each and every smooch: his traps, his pecs, and eventually to his flat stomach; and when she reached his groin which was covered by the last remaining article of clothing either one of them was wearing, she peered up with a smirk.
She allowed her hands to slither inside the soft cotton boxer shorts as she wrapped her fingers around the waistband. She gave them a slow pull, unknowingly dragging out the moment for as long as she could. All it took was one single second to cause her heart skip a beat.
Of course he looks like this. Why wouldn’t he?
She rested flat on her stomach—in between his legs—with her small hands wrapped around his towering erection. The only thing she cared about was making him feel what she’d experienced mere moments ago. That warm, smothering, exhilarated sensation that had rocketed throughout her body? She was going to share that with Mike; and whatever it took, she would give this amazing man the greatest blowjob of his life. Why? Because he deserved it.
A million different adolescent fantasies were coming to fruition for Mike. For every dream he had that involved walking hand in hand with his tenth grade crush, there was another fantasy that looked similar to his view at this very moment. The top of that blonde head bobbed up and down on his manhood as his back rested against the headboard. It was heaven. It was special. For the first time in his life, everything felt right.
Cindy gave good head, his gut still told him that Jessica gave amazing head, and a girl he dated before Cindy gave world class head, but nothing felt like this. Hell, the three of them at the same time wouldn’t have compared what he was currently experiencing. He was struggling to put his feelings into words.