The Dating Bender

by Christina Julian

  He sucked on my nipples to the point of erection—his and mine.

  “I love your body. You have the most supple breasts and skin,” he said before plunging downward to my nether regions. He grazed them lightly and for once, I liked it. I didn’t even attempt to cover up my body—another first. I allowed him to take me in completely, which left me feeling exposed yet coveted.

  He knelt down and stroked my inner thighs with his massive knuckles. Then he moved his lips upward until he reached my private parts. I tried not to come, but when he said, “Baby, I need you, I want you, I love you, just let go and enjoy.” I exploded inside. With each swath of his tongue, my body reverberated. He pleasured me better than I did myself, which spoke volumes. You’re trampy to do such a thing.

  He straddled me on top of my rose-pink down comforter and smiled. I wanted to stay like that staring up at his engorged penis forever, but Justin had much more in store.

  For the next hour, he drank up my body as if it were some sort of magic tonic. And then at the most perfect moment, he entered me. He controlled his penis like a master artist who knew exactly how to command his brush, taunting me as he twirled his wand at the opening of my vagina, which caused me to come again—a feat I never knew was possible outside of soap opera circles. He entered me again as he told me that he loved me. He swaddled me up into his buff body and we spent the rest of the night in each other’s arms. I broke my post-coital rules by being able to fall asleep with Justin glued to my backside. I had also broken my own curse by allowing a genuine man to love me, thus disproving my parents’ theory that divorcées are unlovable.

  Normally, I felt tense and guilty after having “relations,” so I stayed awake all night trying to glow and look sexy. This tactic usually backfired because by not sleeping, I would look like a zombie instead of waking with the post-sex afterglow Cosmo always talked about. But Justin’s calming presence freed me to fall asleep with the assurance that he would still love me in the morning.

  I woke feeling panicked over whether or not he would bolt out the door to work out or kill terrorists or something. I prayed that both could wait. Well, since you didn’t bother to wait to bed him, don’t expect him to.

  “Shut up. Leave me alone!” I yelled without intending to.

  My outburst and thrashing about in bed woke up Justin, and that wasn’t the only thing that was “up.”

  “Morning, sunshine.”

  He rolled over on top of me, and in one swift movement he draped his body over mine and entered me again—my morning wakeup call. Something I could get used to. He was a gentleman and a marathon man all rolled into one tight, muscle-filled bun.

  As I rested in the nook of his sweet-scented armpit, Shannon’s ringtone belted me out of bliss.

  “Sam, we’re downstairs. Do you want to meet us for breakfast?”

  I leaned over to my now favorite man in the world.

  “Sweetie, are you up for a foursome? Well, of the breakfast variety I mean, not the sex scandal type,” I said, willing myself to shut up as soon as the words were out of my mouth.

  “Whatever you want, baby. My day is yours,” he said.

  So, he wasn’t going to skedaddle? I needed to get used to the fact that a handsome, respectful, upstanding, and incredibly hot man could love me. It was time. Time to go to confession and purge yourself of your most recent sin.

  Justin strutted into the bathroom, which gave me a chance to give Shannon an update.

  “We did it. Multiple times even, because he has the endurance of Superman. We’ll meet you there. God, I love him.”

  I hung up, and while Justin freshened up in the bathroom, I tried to pick out the perfect casual yet sexy outfit. He liked me to show off my minimalist curves, so I settled on skinny jeans and a pink velour turtleneck.

  It took him forty-five minutes to shower and get ready which seemed excessive, but his look when he exited was worth it.

  It poured rain outside, which normally caused me to sink into a deep depression since I suffered from bouts of seasonal affect disorder, but not even the weather could burst my happy bubble today. We sat for a couple hours at Veselka, the perfect perch for a post-coital binge. The kielbasa platter reminded me of Justin’s big-o sausage. The memory made it hard to focus on the food. I tried to converse with everybody to stop myself from daydreaming about our night of love. I also prayed that Justin would not dine and dash. He ate breakfast as if food was going out of fashion. Either his meal was much better than mine, or he was in a hurry to get on with his day without me.

  God must have approved, because Justin did not ditch me after breakfast. Instead, he demanded that we spend the entire day together. I hoped that it was code-speak for him wanting to spend the rest of his life with me.

  We hit coffee houses and tea shops and even a double feature at Village East Cinema, an art house theater down the street from my apartment. Despite the daylong rainstorm, my good mood prevailed with Justin by my side. Oprah was right. Love did conquer all. We never unlocked hands the entire day, except for bathroom breaks.

  I had to fight the urge to scratch my nose to the point of peeling skin off, but I thought better of that idea. I was worthy of a good man, and not even my bad habits were going to get in the way of keeping him.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  In the days that followed our New Year’s Day love-in, Justin and I talked on the phone nightly and spent every weekend together. I never thought it was possible to be involved with somebody and not argue. My parents taught me that a family that argued together, stayed together. If that were true, they would be together forever.

  I would never admit this to my parents, but for me, an argument-free relationship was the brass ring, and Justin would get me there. It had taken what felt like a lifetime of screw-ups and missteps to find him, but now that I had, I planned to hang on to him forever. Candy was right again, real love rules.

  My romantic reverie was broken when the phone rang. I let it go into voicemail, guessing at this hour it was Crazy Molly.

  I couldn’t help myself from checking the message.

  “Samantha, where are you? It’s already 6 a.m. and you’re not in the office yet,” she said. “I expected you to be here by now with my chai. Since you haven’t bothered to show up yet, don’t bother. I need you to find a special branch of lavender for a nerve-calming potion. My therapist said it would help calm me down. I will email you the specifics. Hurry up!”

  I almost called her back to tell her there’s not enough lavender in the world, but I stopped myself because the love of a good man made me more patient. When Justin and I moved in together, none of this would matter anymore. He hadn’t asked me yet, but it was bound to happen soon enough.

  After hitting eight specialty shops without finding the exact twig of lavender that Crazy Molly required, I knew I should call her to break the news. Oh God, that was probably her ringing again now.

  “No, I didn’t find it yet, and I know I have let you down again, and for that, I am truly sorry. You’re just so crazy. No, I mean, it’s such a crazy plant,” I said. “Oh, it’s you, sweet pea. Love you!”

  “Love you too, sugar. Where are you?”

  Just the sound of his sexy voice squelched my pissy mood.

  “I’m in hell, baby! Hell’s Kitchen.”

  “Perfect. Give me your coordinates and I’ll be there in ten.”

  This was just like him. At a random moment, he would pop up and surprise me. Sometimes he just couldn’t make it through the day without seeing me, and I was more than willing to oblige him, in every sense of the word, which sometimes meant “doing it” in his undercover security van. He was always off duty when this happened. He would never put the city in danger because of our hyperactive sex drive.

  Before I had a chance to ponder his pecs for too long, Justin sidled up to me and joined me on the curb outside of Amy’s Bread. His looks were almost as dizzying as the scent of the cherry chocolate rolls that always smothered the stench of
street garbage.

  “Kiss me, Pop-Tart.”

  His kisses could melt Iceland.

  Before we had a moment to get caught up in a romantic liaison, he left me as quickly as he arrived. Duty always called. But it didn’t diminish the gesture. He put terrorist-busting on hold for a moment just for the chance to see me.

  His visit and the sunny haze gave me the strength to return to Molly without the lavender. As I walked to the subway station that was en route to the Upper East Side, I allowed myself to dwell on how much I loved Justin. It worried and wowed me.

  We had tentative plans to celebrate our two-month anniversary. Corny, I know, but he knew how to demolish my insecurities. Right when I started to get worried about the relationship, he sensed it and would sweep in and reinforce his commitment to me. Justin’s cell stopped me right before I went underground.

  “Sugar, come to my apartment right after work, and pack enough stuff for the whole weekend.”

  “I can’t wait! What are we doing?” I said.

  “It’s a surprise. All you have to do is prepare to be pampered. And it’s a clothing optional weekend. Love you.”

  “Meow! See you soon.”

  The idea of holing up with Justin in his fabulous apartment was just what I needed to forget my work woes. He had one of those perfectly decorated Pottery Barn type pads that would be how I would style my studio if it were bigger than a thimble.

  I loved his place. It was light, airy, and spacious, a perfect romantic hideaway. And his bathroom and the accompanying bath and body products rivaled the Bliss Spa. Sometimes, I wondered if it was normal for a stud like Justin to have a beauty regime that rivaled my own. But one sniff and look at him when he exited the bathroom after one of his hour-long showers and shave routines made up for the length of the cinnamon red-hot scrub.

  I returned to the office, sans lavender.

  “You are really a disappointment, Samantha,” said Crazy Molly, looking at me with wild eyes. “I can’t understand why you don’t take your responsibilities seriously. When I send you on an errand, don’t come back until it’s completed. What’s your problem?”

  Could it be her unstable mental state? I scratched my nose repeatedly while she sipped her chamomile tea and glared at me.

  “Forget it, Samantha. Your presence is doing nothing but pissing me off. Please leave and don’t come back until you have found the lavender. Are we clear?”

  “Crystal. Have a nice weekend, Molly. I will work really hard trying to find it, I promise.”

  “Don’t try, do.”

  I gathered up my stuff and left before she had a chance to change her mind. I spent the rest of the afternoon packing my heart-shaped duffle bag with sexy outfits and loungewear.

  I arrived in Justin’s neighborhood an hour early just to make sure I was on time. The five-degree temperatures made for a nippy walk. I tried to counter the chill factor by doing laps up and down Queens Boulevard. It paled in comparison to a Central Park jog, but Justin was the real attraction. For him, I would lift my moratorium on living in an outer borough. For him, I would move anywhere.

  My fingertips were on the brink of frostbite, so I ducked into Justin’s favorite diner, The T-Bone. I slurped down three hot cocoas and finally stopped myself before my face got bloated from all the chocolate. Fueled on sugar, I charged out and down the street to meet my man.

  He opened the door of his love den with nothing but his FBI credentials dangling around his neck. Not even a terrorist could tackle a hunk like that. I threw my body into his nakedness and tried to neck him to the ground but my earring got caught on his badge. Aside from that, it was my sexiest move yet.

  “What’s on the agenda for tomorrow?” I asked as I untwined my earring from the lanyard.

  “I thought I would take you shopping after we hit the T-Bone for breakfast, but that’s nothing compared to what I’ve got planned for tonight. Devouring you, for starters.”

  “Meow!”

  He yanked off his badge in one fluid motion, which provided an unobstructed view of his tanned, washboard stomach. I could bounce quarters off his buff bod. Tanning and full-on body shaving would not normally be my thing, especially in the middle of winter, but he wore it well. His skin was the smoothest and most sculpted I had ever felt. I guess all his bath products paid off.

  Justin swept me up into a fireman shoulder hold and carried me over to his white shag area rug, where he enveloped me in his smooth and silky body. Before I had a chance to catch my breath, all my clothes were off, and he entered me. God, his penis and the way he used it was pitch perfect. I could live with him inside of me for the rest of my life. My boyfriend—the walking orgasm machine.

  I relaxed into the luxury of his body for the rest of the night. We made smores by the fireplace, which heated me up, as did Justin’s caressing of my nipples. We made love three more times and passed out in the hallway wrapped around each other. Somewhere in the middle of the night, he placed an olive-colored chenille blanket over us. Ever kind, ever color-coordinated.

  I woke up with a latte next to my head, made just the way I like it—extra sweet. After a coffee-fueled love-making session, we got up to start our mystery weekend. At the T-Bone we sat hand in hand across from each other, drinking chai tea lattes and eating cappuccino yogurt muffins, our favorite. Justin gazed lovingly at me as I gulped down my treat. Despite the dated décor, this spot oozed romance, or maybe it was Justin.

  The geriatric crowd of regulars (all female) came over to say hi. They had likely ogled him in their imaginations, just as I did. They took every opportunity to grab his forearm, pinch his chin, and some even accidentally pulled their hands through has wavy locks.

  We finished up, and Justin ushered me out into the elements where it snowed lightly. The moist flakes hadn’t even been trampled to a dirty death yet. We browsed in and out of boutiques, some kitschy, others elegant. Justin took me into a few of his favorite jeans and t-shirt shops. A few hours into our jaunt, I was so turned on I contemplated pushing him into an alley and doing him there. There are not enough words to describe your behavior, but trampy comes to mind. I thought better of it. We were in public, after all. Instead, I tried to persuade him to take me back home, feigning frosty feet.

  “Baby, I have one last store I want to show you.”

  We glided down the street and he scooted me into a quaint jewelry shop.

  “What are you doing, Pop-Tart?” I said. His lover's eyes made me melt.

  “I want to buy you something special for our anniversary.”

  “No, you don’t have to. Just having you in my life is present enough. Having you inside of me, even better,” I said.

  He must have caught the sexual advance, because he moved toward the exit. As we headed out of the store, I spotted a handcrafted double heart ring. It was magnificent in its simplicity.

  “I need you, now,” I said, pushing him out the door toward home. “You are better than any jewel could ever be.”

  “Okay, for now. But you have to do me a favor before you head back to my place. I knew you would be exhausted after our day, so I booked you a massage. You deserve a break, on me. Here’s the gift certificate and location. You go, relax, and defrost your fingers and toes and then meet me back at the apartment afterwards, where I’ll heat you up.”

  “Turnip, you are the best boyfriend ever. Don’t you want to join me for a couple’s massage?”

  “As much as I do, I’ve got to run to the store to pick up some last bits for dinner,” he said.

  My undercarriage started to sweat at the thought of him charging down the street, FBI style, to scoop up some produce. He dipped in for one last kiss and was gone.

  While my body got the once-over at the spa, I dreamt about Justin putting the rest of my body to work. It really was crazy what a difference a day made. Ever since Justin had hopped over that parking meter into my life, he lifted me into a world that I had never been privy to, a world filled with unconditional love. Having enter
ed that domain, I vowed never to return to the land of misfit lovers ever again. Like Dr. Phil always said, you could never go back, only forward.

  I sang my way home and sailed into Justin’s apartment feeling sensual with my candy apple red nails, another service he arranged for me. I couldn’t tell if it was my nails or his sexual scent, but my private parts throbbed.

  In the time since I’d left him, he had transformed his apartment into a love nest peppered with bouquets of tulips and roses, plus a petal trail that led back to his bedroom, where he had built a castle with cinnamon-scented candles, which smelled as red hot as our union.

  The rest of his abode smelled of garlic, confirming that Justin had whipped up my favorite—penne a la vodka. A man who could cook in the bedroom and the kitchen. How did I get so lucky? He sauntered out of the kitchen wearing only an apron. I had died and gone to a very non-Catholic heaven where sex before marriage was sassy instead of sinful.

  “Happy Anniversary, baby,” he said as he draped his barely clothed body around me. Then he pulled my shirt off and handed me a powder-pink pouch. Naked dinner for two, how delightful!

  “What’s this? You have already done so much. The apartment is amazing. You’re amazing. Life is amazing. I could cry.”

  “Don’t do that. You’ll get the pasta soggy. Open up your gift.”

  I ripped open the adorable package. It was the heart-shaped ring from the jewelry store.

  “Honey, you shouldn’t have…” I started to say, but instead said, “I love it. I love you!”

  With the candles burning, the pasta brewing, and my libido on the brink of bubbling over, I realized that for the first time in my life, I was allowing a man to love me. And it felt amazing.