Dinner Should be Enjoyed Naked

by Michelle Charpentier

  A quick glance at the clock reveals it is finally time to go home. No more customer issues, today. Now it’s time to create the perfect plan for Saturday night. All I have to do is get through the five o’clock traffic.

  Slowly the cars move along as if their tires have melted to the road. I hear my engine whine in protest. “I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I can’t make them go any faster. If I have time this weekend, I’ll take you out on the highway so you can run.” Wow, I’m talking to my car! I need a man! Out of the corner of my eye, I see a white panel van moving in the other direction. My heart rate quickens at the possibility that Rick is behind the wheel. I would love to be the steering wheel he wraps his fingers around. He can grip me like that anytime. My nipples are standing at attention just thinking about being caressed by those fingers. He shouldn’t still be in town but that does look like his truck. I can feel my inner thighs starting to sweat in anticipation of seeing his beautiful brown eyes. Craning my neck to get a better look my baby narrowly misses another car clipping her side. The truck passes by and I see the driver is not my sexy dinner date. I can’t believe I almost ruined my paint job because of an imposter. Try explaining the accident to a traffic cop.

  “I was looking at a white van that reminded me of my potential lover when this car moved over into my lane scratching my car.” I pointed to the ugly scar left on the quarter panel ruining the red paint. Slowly a tear rolls down my check falling on the officer’s shoe.

  “Did you see the other driver coming into your lane?” the officer asks trying to get all the information for his report.

  “I did but it was too late for me to react.”

  “She looked like she was having a seizure, officer. She probably isn’t supposed to drive.” The offending driver tries his best to put the blame for the accident on me. I hope that the officer doesn’t delve into his statement any further.

  “Ma’am, is this correct? Do you have a seizure disorder? I need to see your license.”

  “No, officer I do not have a seizure disorder. Here look at my license. He’s just trying to shift blame here. He obviously hit my car. I want him arrested!” Two can play at this game. I can play the hysterical woman very effectively. No way am I going to explain to these two I was on the verge of an orgasm while driving.

  “Look lady, I can’t arrest him for scratching your car. All I can do is get his information so you can file a claim against his insurance. As for you, keep your eyes on the road instead of looking in other peoples’ cars,” the officer retreats to his patrol car and drives off. I climb behind the wheel relieved to be headed home. The road can be a dangerous place for daydreamers.

  Wednesday November 22 5:30 pm

  The quiet floods over me as I open the front door. No one here makes demands on my time or emotions except the cats who curl around my ankles to welcome me home. Kahlua is a big one eyed Siamese who believes he actually owns the house. I’m just here to feed him. He vocalizes these sentiments on a daily basis. Unlike the outside world, I can leave the room, blocking out his meowing. Phritz, a petite calico who after five years still is wary of strangers, is the quiet one. She seldom makes any noise, preferring to prowl the house like a tiger on the hunt. She lets me pet her a few minutes before she darts away nipping my hand along the way.

  Pulling my hand away, I get a good look at my nails. They are not in bad shape but I think I will use some fake nails just to make them perfect. I have some fantastic nail polish that will match my dress perfectly. I believe the nails and polish are in the same place. I just need to find them. First, though, I need to find something to eat so I can stay focused. One drawback to living alone is eating alone. Sandwiches quickly become a staple since they can be adapted to fit any meal. As I fall back into the couch, plate in hand my mind starts to imagine a perfect meal.

  “Hi honey,” big hunky Rick, sings as I stroll through the door after a hard day at the office. He hurries across the room arms outstretched offering a much needed hug. A long lingering kiss gives me a hint of what is for dinner. Besides the wonderful aromas wafting from the kitchen, I taste marinara on those big luscious lips. My stomach growls hungrily.

  “It’s good to be home,” I murmur as my lips caress his cheek. “Is dinner ready yet?”

  “Just as soon as you are ready, my love.”

  Quickly I head to the bedroom to shed these work clothes and change into something more comfortable. Grabbing a silk camisole top with matching lounging pants I swiftly shed the constricting work clothes anticipating a scrumptious meal served by a hunky man. My breasts heave a sigh of relief as they find freedom from their confinement. The feel of silk on my bare skin is definitely pre-foreplay. Already my nipples are becoming erect from anticipation. I love the way he sets the mood after a long day at work. Who says men aren’t romantic. Spying my pink high heel bedroom slippers, I reach under the bed to retrieve them. Rick loves the puff of pink fluff that cascades over my toes.

  Pressing my breasts against his back, I wrap my arms around his waist letting my hands caress his soft, silky hair covering his chest. My lips travel slowly over his shoulder blades, my tongue making swirls across his skin tastes a hint of salt while my nose gathers a wisp of Old Spice. He takes my hand as we slowly walk to the table where a fabulous dinner awaits. Always the gentleman, Rick holds my chair, leaning into my hair as I sink into the chair. His breath on my neck sends electric shivers up my spine. My senses drink in the atmosphere created by the long tapered candles flickering in the dimly lit room. A faint scent of roses fills the air. The flicker of the of candles’ flames reflects softly in the deep brown eyes gazing at me from across the table. Slowly, Rick reaches down cradling my foot in his strong supple hands. He slips off my slipper and begins to massage my foot. His strong fingers caress the arch of my foot releasing any tension caused by the outside world, but at the same time awaking a need to feel those fingers caressing the skin all over my body. My foot twitches as the caressing starts to tickle.

  “Oh Rick, that tickles,” I giggle.

  As eyes open, I realize the soft caressing of my foot is actually Kahlua rubbing his body against me for attention. It is a good thing I live alone. Sudden outbursts of passion don’t have to be explained to the cats as it would if I had a roommate. I look down at my lonely sandwich and sigh. I wonder how close my fantasy is to the real thing. Could he possibly be a man who enjoys romance as much as I need it? By Saturday, I should have my answer.

  Finishing the cold sandwich, I look for a piece of paper to write down everything I have to accomplish tomorrow in preparation for Saturday. Grabbing a small notepad off the end table, I push back in the recliner to think. I might as well start with the toes. If there is any chance my fantasy was prophetic, I must have pretty feet. Nail polish and heavy-duty skin cream go first on the list. Legs are smooth which is perfect. Since it is unseasonably warm for November, I don’t have to worry about panty hose. I believe I can get away with bare legs. I had better pick up a pair of light hose just in case. I hope he likes the natural look because a bikini wax is out of the question. Maybe a trim to make sure everything stays inside the panty lines but that is it. I have to check my make-up to see what I have. It has been so long since I used any I’m sure it is out of date.

  A quick check on the dresser confirms my suspicions. Standing in front of the mirror, I flip my hair from side to side like a supermodel on a catwalk. The soft ash blonde locks fall a couple of inches past my shoulders. The ends flip up softly indicating there is some life left. Must be the shampoo I’m using. I cannot tie it into a knot like the girl in the commercial but it does feel soft to the touch. A trim would not hurt so I’ll put that on the list for tomorrow. Must remember, I only have eight hours to pull it all together.

  Gently, I pull the skin around my eyes up in a slant. Almost fifty and very few wrinkles is a plus. The fourteen-year age difference does not seem huge to me; think of the fun we could have if I look even younger. With the right face cream and lighting, I
could easily pass for thirty-five. Drop a few sentences ending with “daddy” at the right time and watch what happens. I could become the next Hollywood starlet look alike. Not quite, boobs are too small. That reminds me, a pushup bra might be in order. Cupping a breast in each hand, I try to find a flattering position. Up too high and most breasts look false; too far apart might show their age. If I find the right dress, I could go braless. A nice v-neck will show off their size and smooth skin. They are in remarkable shape considering I breastfed all three of my sons. A v-neck would be more comfortable and give a smoother line. Just need to keep most of the girls covered. Granted a well-displayed bust makes life easier, but I resent the staring. First, speak to my mind then ogle my chest. Is that too much to ask? A nice dress that shows just enough cleavage to keep his eyes on me goes on the list.

  Finally, I come to the shoes. One pair of sneakers, two pair of work shoes, old fuzzy slippers, and flip-flops are the only things piled on the closet floor. Shoes never seemed important until now. I don’t wear shoes if I’m at home. Often I take them off as soon as I get in the car just to feel the freedom being barefoot gives me. My feet enjoy the sensations of soft rugs or the coolness of hardwood floors. Being free gives my skin a chance to breathe. The only problem I have is the ability to find something to stub my little toe on even in a room where there is absolutely nothing there. I swear I can hurt myself on air. Besides forging a new relationship, I guess I’m developing a new attitude towards my wardrobe.

  Scanning the list, I realize it is time to grow up and become the woman I’m supposed to be. Feminine clothes, high heels and the proper make- up are all out there waiting for me to find them. Jewelry is definitely an issue. I have one pair of earrings, a couple necklaces and one set of bracelets. Nothing matches, especially since I seem to lose pieces almost as soon as I get them. It’s as if I purposely sabotage my own jewelry box for no apparent purpose. This is where daughters would have come in handy. There would have been a chance of exposure to all things feminine. If I had more time, I could have become a big sister to a teenager to get some pointers. On the other hand, maybe I could have searched out help at the local high school. That would be a great idea for a class. Once a week a group of women could sit in the classroom and have cheerleaders teach them make up and fashion tips. The girls could get extra credit for community service.

  “Tiffany, what would you wear on a first date with an attractive man?’

  “How attractive is he? Is he cute like Brad Peters or Jimmy Stallion?

  “He is cute like Bruce Williams but with curly hair.”

  “Bruce who? I’ve never heard of him, is he old or something?” I forgot these were teenage girls clearly only aware of men in their own age group. Better to keep the advice to generic information that works with any age.

  “Let’s just say the guy is cute. What would you wear?” I could see the look of concentration on the girls’ faces as they gave this some thought.

  “Definitely a mini skirt with a cute little lacy shirt,” one of the girls squealed clapping her hands excitedly. You would have thought she had just one a million dollars on a TV game show.

  Yeah, and pink platform shoes,” her teammate added with the same enthusiasm.

  “Girls, remember we are older than you are. We can’t wear miniskirts or platform shoes.” Maybe this was not such a good idea after all. I don’t think these three will be able to bridge the age gap.

  “Oh right, you guys are old. Do people your age really date? How late can you stay up? I thought you all went to bed at eight o’clock. Girls we need to huddle.” All three girls wrapped their arms around each other in a protective shield whispering intently. Every few moments one would raise her head to look at us then rejoin the others in deep conversation. If we didn’t feel inferior before we sure did now. One of the girls pulled out her cell phone to make a call. Great, now they are going to broadcast to their friends how pathetic we are. After a few minutes, the huddle broke and the girls faced us with sad eyes reserved for injured animals.

  “We think we can help you. My mom has this magazine called Older Women or something like that. It has all kinds of pictures in there of women your age dressed up. We asked her to bring us a copy after her bingo game so you guys can look at it. Maybe you can find some help in there.” As she stood there with her arms in front of her in a sympathetic shrug, I wanted to scream. Three cheerleaders feeling sorry for me, a successful businesswoman with an MBA who just happens to be more than twice their age.

  “Thanks girls, I know this was difficult for you. Hopefully, we haven’t taxed your brains too much.” Getting up I head for the door. If I want this kind of abuse, I’ll stay home and get it from my cats. The tip about the magazine was right on though. Maybe I can pick one up on the way home.

  Phritz jumps into my lap bringing me back to reality. Clearly, I still have a lot of work to do before I am ready. If this relationship takes off, there is sure to come a point when clothing will be optional. We will become so comfortable with each other we will eat dinner naked with only a napkin covering our lap. Of course, I will serve dinner here since I can’t think of any restaurant that allows nude dining. Getting ready will be a lot less stressful. I hope and pray this date is worth it. Remembering Rick’s coal black ringlets and long muscular legs brings a sigh to my lips. Saturday cannot come soon enough!

  Thursday November 23rd

  Rick’s lips gently caress my neck sending electric shock waves throughout my body. His tongue flicks over my skin; his hot breath heightens the sensations. Slowly his hands caress my thighs, working their way up to that special spot only he knows how to excite. As his fingers separate the moist skin protecting my pleasure center, his lips gently tug at my nipples. My body trembles with excitement, not knowing which sensation is more powerful. First one nipple then the other hardens under the teasing from his lips and teeth. I cup his face in my hands before gently pulling him up to kiss me. His lips tenderly press against mine as our tongues probe each other’s mouth. Quivering with anticipation, I eagerly accept his long, hard shaft inside. Thrust after thrust brings us both closer to climaxing. His stamina is incredible. Never has anyone spent so much time building such intense physical sensations. Every nerve in my body was tingling our breathing becoming harder and harder. Finally, in a wave of intense heat, fireworks exploding in the sky above the bed we both reach climax. With sweat dripping, lungs gasping for air, we cling together in the afterglow. Rick rolls onto his side giving me room to snuggle up under his chin. Our legs entwine as his arms wrap around my body, one under my head the other around my waist. A few kisses later, we both drift off to sleep spent by our passion.

  The warmth of another body lying close to me in bed was a welcome feeling. It has been many, many moons since excited utterances not caused by a leg cramp echoed in this room. Alas, today was no exception. I turn over with fingers crossed hoping the dream is real and there would be a man dreamily looking back at me. Unfortunately, the only eyes looking at me are small, blue ones attached to a calico cat. As my eyes become accustom to the daylight I realize the warm body next to me is not my dream man but the bodies of two cats curled up in the blankets positioned as close to me as possible. While I appreciate their company it is just another reminder I need physical contact with a man.

  Staring at the ceiling, I try to gather enough energy to get out of bed. Momentary depression stymies any attempt to move. Again, like each morning, I beg a higher power to help me find fulfillment with a man. I hope that Rick is the one sent to fulfill my need for a companion, lover, and partner. I cannot pin my hopes on him but I must be open that he might be the one. Hanging onto that hope, I get up reaching for my bathrobe and head to the kitchen for coffee. Waiting for the cup to heat up in the microwave, I try to remember where I left that list. I only have today to shop for an outfit, get my hair trimmed, and decide on makeup. Since I don’t have daughters, girlfriends would come in handy. Both my sisters and my mom live out of state so they
are no help. I don’t make a point to meet people socially so there is no one to take shopping. If I stick to shopping at stores with well-dressed consultants, I may be all right. I wonder if any of the stores have gay sales associates. I hate to rely on stereotypes but all the fashion shows have gay men spewing advice to fashion challenged women so I have to believe they know more than I would about current fashions. I will have to keep my eyes open while in the stores. I know enough gay men to be able to spot them without being obvious. Sipping the last of the coffee, I return to the bedroom to get dressed and head out.

  Before I can make it out the door, the phone starts to ring. Looking at the screen, I see it is my sister calling back, hopefully with some advice. More than likely she has more wise cracks though.

  “Hello sis, what’s up?” I ask.

  “Oh nothing just thought I would see if you found an outfit yet.”

  “I am on my way to the mall right now to see what I can find. Did you come up with any real ideas?”