The Table and Mr. Tensdale

by Rebecca Milton

  “Did you forget the time,” I asked and he looked at me with a curious smile. “It has been longer than two hours, not very polite to leave a lady waiting. Especially when you’re attempting to make up for previous bad behavior.”

  “Quite right, Miss,” he said, jumping to his feet. “Please forgive me, I was lost in thought.”

  He seemed to have regained his confidence and the charm he lacked when he knocked this morning was bursting forth. I wasn’t sure if I liked him this way or the other way best. Both sides had their appeal.

  “Shall we strut to the park and take in all that’s there to see?” I nodded, and he held out his crooked arm to me. I looped my hand through his arm and off we went.

  The day was lovely. Warm sun, a good number of people out and about. Artists had set up booths showing off their works. Artisans had displays of furniture and knickknacks. We drank fresh, cold lemonade, ate roasted potatoes and spicy sausage being cooked over a fire.

  He was charming, funny, but he also was very liberal with his eye. He greeted and spoke to any and all ladies who came across his path and was at times quite forward with them. Some of them laughed and touched his arm, giving him all their attention. Others smiled and did their best to move away quickly. I spoke to him about it as we finally wandered back toward home.

  “Do you feel that your behavior is appropriate?” I asked.

  “Appropriate to what?”

  “Well,” I said, trying to put into words what I was thinking and feeling. “You told me that you were embarrassed by your behavior when we first met and that you wanted to make it up to me.”

  “Is that what I said?’ he asked and seemed to truly not remember, the question was sincere.

  “Yes,” I told him. “You felt bad and wanted to make it up to me with this walk through the park.”

  “And, did I,” he said. “Did I make it up to you?”

  “No,” I said, not angrily, just truthfully. “You didn’t at all. In fact, if I am to be honest, you made it quite worse.”

  “How’s that?’ he asked looking hurt and confused. I was surprised by this.

  “Mr. Tensdale,” I said. “Do you really think it is polite, when walking with one woman, to pay so much attention, be so forward, with other women?”

  He stopped and stared at me. He pondered my question for some time and began walking again. He was silent. I waited for a reply. Finally, he spoke.

  “Listen, Emily, is it?”

  “Yes,” I said starting to get a little upset. “Emily is my name, sad to hear you couldn’t remember it for one day. Obviously I left quite an impression.”

  “Anyway, Emily, have we... have we dated? Have we been together for a few months or even a few weeks,” he asked. “Have we kissed, have we made love?”

  I was shocked.

  “Well, I can safely say no to all of those questions,” I told him. “And thankfully I can. Imagine how sad it would be for me if we had done... done any of those things, and you didn’t recall.”

  “Right, you’re missing my point.”

  “What is your point, Mr. Tensdale?”

  “My point is,” he began. “We were walking in the park. You are not my girlfriend, we are not engaged, and so, my behavior is simply the behavior of a man walking in the park who happens to be walking with his neighbor, who happens to be a woman. My behavior is not rude, inappropriate or wrong. My behavior just is.”

  He smiled wide, quite pleased with himself. I thought about it for a moment and had to admit that he was right. He owed me nothing. I was not his girl, and he hadn’t stated that the day was a date of any sort. I made the assumption that it was. Still it didn’t feel quite right.

  “I see your point,” I told him. “Still, it doesn’t feel right. It feels to me that you treated me poorly.” He laughed at this.

  “Well, dear Emily,” he said, taking my arm and looping it under his. “You need to get over that. Did you have a good time today, tell me that.” I thought about it for a moment.

  “Yes,” I said, again being truthful. “I had a lovely time.”

  “Good. I am very happy to hear that. Now then, what are you upset about?”

  I had no answer. I was operating on rules and behaviors I had experienced with boys in college. They behaved a certain way, and I assumed that was the way it went. I slowly saw that was not the truth. We walked in silence the rest of the way home. We stepped inside the house, and we stood in front of my door. I turned to him and thanked him for the day.

  “I am sorry if I spoiled things at the end,” I said to him. “I guess I had made assumptions that weren’t true.” He smiled at me, and I felt my heart skip a beat, something about his smile.

  “You spoiled nothing, dear Emily,” he said and pushed me gently against my door. “You were wonderful.”

  Then he kissed me. I started to pull away, but I had never been kissed like that before. It felt dangerous, but I gave over to it. I liked it.

  I slipped my arms around his neck, and he put his arms around my waist. He pulled me close and kissed me hard and long. It was wonderful. Then, as suddenly as he kissed me, he stopped. He stepped back and laughed.

  “Oh my,” he said. “I knew there was a bad girl in there somewhere.” He laughed again and then bounded up the stairs. I stayed, back against the door, shocked and feeling light. A lovely feeling.

  That night, I took a long hot bath. As I relaxed in the tub, I recalled the kiss, the strength of it, and the passionate nature of it. I felt a flutter in my belly and allowed my fingers to drift down. I ran my hands over my soapy thighs. My roommate, Kendra, had once told me that she loved to do this in a hot bath. I never felt there was enough privacy at school but now, I was alone and feeling something so deep, so wonderful, I let myself go and touched myself, making tiny circles.

  I felt my stomach jump and butterflies flutter all through my body. I kept going, gasping for air, biting my lower lip and finally feeling a delicious flood. My body shook and shook, and then it was followed by the deepest, most glorious feeling of relaxation. I sighed and sank a little deeper into the tub.

  “Oh, Mr. Tensdale,” I sighed. “Maybe you’re right, maybe I am a bad girl.”

  ***

  Next morning I walked to town to get a few things at the general store and the ingredients to bake a cake. I thought I might invite Mr. Tensdale down for tea and cake. As I was walking out of the grocery, I saw Mr. Tensdale walking a few yards ahead of me. I quickened my step until I caught up with him I slipped my hand under his arm, and he turned to me, a little shocked, and I smiled.

  “Good morning, Mr. Tensdale,” I said to him. “I’m so happy to have run into you. I wanted to thank you for a lovely time yesterday.”

  He seemed surprised. He had that scattered, shy look about him this morning. I found it endearing, but I wanted the naughty side, I was still feeling the effects of the previous evening’s bath.

  “Oh, yes,” he said. “You... you had a good time, did you?”

  “I certainly did,” I assured him. “And again, I apologize for almost spoiling things at the end there, I was just being a silly woman.” He nodded but seemed to have no recollection of what I was speaking of.

  “I must say though,” I whispered, getting closer to his ear. “That kiss certainly stayed with me all night long.” He pulled away quickly.

  “The kiss,” he said. “Oh, yes, of course, kissing, we did the kissing. I do hope that I wasn’t too, too forward with the kissing.” He was so nervous now it made me chuckle.

  “Not too forward at all, in fact, I was going to go home, bake a cake and invite you down for some tea and cake later. Perhaps... some more of that wonderful kissing.”

  He nodded nervously and said he would be delighted. We talked of books on the rest of the walk, and I was thrilled at his scope of literature, his insights into some of my favorite books and the fact that he too was a writer. At home, I told him to come back down at seven after supper, and we would have dessert, con
tinue our talk on books and perhaps... something more. He blushed and assured me he would be back at seven promptly.

  Seven o’clock came and went, Mr. Tensdale did not show. At seven forty-five there was a knock on my door, and I opened it to find him there at last.

  “I see being late is a habit of yours,” I said, gesturing him into the room. “You do know that is rude.”

  “Apparently,” he said, “everything I do is rude.” He smiled and looked around my place. “You certainly have a number of books.”

  He picked a few up and then tossed them back onto their piles without really giving them much thought. He then stood before the table.

  “This is a fine table,” he said, leaning on it. “What do you do on this table?” I placed the cake on the table and went to get tea.

  “Everything,” I said. “I read at it, write there, eat at it, everything.” I put the tea and cups down, and he was next to me. He put his arm around my waist and pulled me close.

  “Everything,” he said. “You do everything on this table.” He kissed me. That same deep, wonderful kiss and I felt heat between my legs. “So, that kiss stayed with you all night, did it, and what did you do about it?” I was shocked by his forwardness, but still drawn in. He kissed me again.

  “I... I took a hot bath,” I said, he was now kissing my neck and it was sending shivers through my body. “I took a bath and... And...”

  “Tell me,” he whispered in my ear, “what else?” I could barely stand up, my knees were so shaky and weak.

  “I... I touched myself.”

  “Where,” he breathed in my ear. “Tell me, and show me where.”

  “Here,” I said and pointed to the spot, indenting my skirt. He placed his hand where mine was and pushed hard against it.

  “Here,” he asked and I nodded. Then, his hand was under my skirt and running up my leg. I thought I should stop him, that this wasn’t right, but I wanted it so much. He moved his hand up my thigh.

  He slipped his hand under the waistband and into my panties. My head swam, and I could feel it all rushing out of me again. Just like in the tub but so, so much better. It took only moments before I was gasping, biting my lips, and the flood was starting.

  “Let me hear it,” he whispered to me and I opened my mouth. I let go a gasping cry of desire and released a flood. Again, I shook and shuddered and then, it was over. My body felt limp, relaxed. He settled me into the table and kissed me again. Taking his hand out of my panties, he left me empty but sated.

  “That was lovely,” he said, kissing me again. “I would truly like a little brandy with this cake, do you have any?” He changed the subject so quickly, I was unprepared.

  “Uh, no,” I stammered. “I have none.”

  “I do,” he said. “I’ll be right back.” Then he was out the door and gone. I recovered myself, moved about the apartment in bliss. I did not expect him to return anytime soon but within moments, there was a knock.

  “It’s open,” I called, and the door opened timidly and he stepped back in. He held up a bottle of brandy and two glasses. He sat at the table and poured brandy, I cut cake, and we had a long, lovely talk about Emerson and Walden.

  After a few hours, he said he needed to get home. I walked him to the door, thanked him for a wonderful night and raised up on my toes to kiss him. He gave me his cheek and brushed my cheek with his lips. He smiled and left. After the door closed, I thought about what an odd and wonderful man he was.

  ***

  A few nights later I stepped out on the porch, the summer heat a bit too much in my apartment, and I found Mr. Tensdale sitting in his spot on the porch. He smiled at me, and I nodded to him.

  “Hot inside,” I said. He stood immediately and came to me. He pushed me back inside and into my apartment.

  “How hot?” he asked and tore my blouse off. He put his mouth on my breast. I cried out and held his head tight to my body. I didn’t stop him. My body was a shimmer of sweat as he took off every piece of my clothing, pushed me down on the table and knelt on the floor between my legs.

  He found that spot, that glorious spot and it was the most incredible thing I had ever felt in my life. I kept sighing yes, yes, yes. He didn’t stop, and he was greatly skilled. On and on he went until I exploded. I screamed and was thankful no one else was in the building, or else they would think I was being murdered. When he had emptied me, exhausted me, satisfied me beyond belief, he stood up.

  “Next time,” he said, “perhaps you would be willing to do something for me.” I got to my knees on the table and put my arms around his neck, kissed him.

  “Anything,” I said to him and meant it. “Anything you desire, just tell me and I will try.” He kissed me again and smiled. He left me, and I was still shaking for an hour after his departure.

  ***

  “I have a first edition of Walden,” Mr. Tensdale said the next day when I opened the door. “Two, actually,” he stuttered. “I was thinking, perhaps you’d like one.”

  He held out the book to me, and I took it. I then grabbed his hand and pulled him inside. I shut the door and pushed him against it. I kissed his mouth, but he didn’t respond. I tried again, pushing my tongue against his lips. He didn’t seem to know what to do. I stopped.

  “Are you angry,” I asked. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “No,” he said. “You... you are perfect. I’m not the least bit angry.” We stood silently for a few moments.

  “Well,” I said at last. “Thank you for the book.” He nodded and then slipped out the door.

  Perhaps it was the daylight, I thought. Maybe he is less amorous during the day. But, no, he was very much this way that day at the park. Maybe he was asleep. I had read a book about a man who was like two different people because he would walk in his sleep. He would also sing and dance, tell jokes and act like a completely different person. Maybe this was the same with Mr. Tensdale, maybe he was doing all those glorious things with me when he was asleep.

  ***

  Two nights later as I came home from the library, he was on the porch again. I stared at him, and he stared back at me. I gestured subtly with my head for him to come in, and he followed. Inside I closed the door, stood before him. He was smiling, anticipating something, anything that would happen. I took a breath and then, slapped him across his face with all my might.

  “What the hell was that,” he shouted at me when he stood up from the floor. “What did you do that for?” I was trembling now, scared and filled with a strange desire. Slapping him had felt good.

  “I... I don’t know,” I said. “I thought you were... asleep.” He stared at me. I became very nervous. “You’re two people it seems to me,” I shouted and fled the room.

  He followed. We were in my bedroom now, and he took me in his arms. I didn’t want to fight. I wanted him to take me. I unbuckled his pants, not sure of what to do, but I knew I wanted to do something. I put my hand in his trousers and touched him. Then I pushed his pants to the floor and got on my knees, mimicking what he had done with me.

  He sighed, and I suddenly felt very powerful. I must have done well because he moaned and caressed my face. I did this for some time when he reached down and pulled me off my knees. He ripped my clothes off and threw me, naked and willing on the bed.

  He parted my legs and took me abruptly. It hurt, and I screamed but the pain was only a moment, and then pleasure, untold pleasure, flooded in right behind. He moved into me again and again and it was bliss. I felt the release in my body, and it felt wonderful, hot and perfect.

  We lay on the bed, side by side, panting and laughing. I never dreamed that it would be this way. I wanted it again. I rolled on top of him and stayed there rocking slowly back and forth.

  He told me he was ready again, and when we were done, I lay with my head on his chest, running my fingers over his lovely body. I was about to drift off when there was a knock on the door. I told him to stay, and I pulled my robe on me. I opened the door.

  “I�
��m sorry,” Mr. Tensdale said. “I gave you the wrong copy of Walden. That one was signed for me.” He held out the book, and I stared at him. He didn’t move.

  “How is this possible,” I said. “How...” I stepped back, confused. “How is this possible?”

  “Because he’s my twin brother,” Mr. Tensdale said from behind me. I turned and there he was, behind me, naked to the waist, his body glistening with the sweat of our passion. “This is my time, Andrew,” he shouted. “So why are you here?”

  “I’m here because...” Mr. Tensdale shouted at Mr. Tensdale. “Because you’re ruining her. She never seems to have time for books any longer. It’s kissing and holding and whatever else it is you’re corrupting her with!”

  I looked back and forth between them. This was incredible.

  “Stop,” I said to them both. “Come in here right now, sit down and explain this to me.”

  Mr. Tensdale stepped inside and closed the door. Both Tensdales sat down, and I looked them over. Identical. “Well,” I said. “What’s going on?”

  As it turned out, Messrs. Alex and Andrew Tensdale were identical twins. Alex, whom I had just had sex with, was in town visiting his brother when he met me. Andrew had met me, and both had fallen for me. Andrew loved my mind, my love of literature and my ideas about writing and books. Alex, well, he had a carnal desire for me. Both men had decided to not tell me about the other. It seemed harmless to them because neither wanted what the other wanted. It was working until, well until it stopped.

  “I do hope we haven’t hurt you,” Andrew said. “It was not our intention.”

  “He wanted to talk to you all night,” Alex said. “And I, well, you know what I want.”

  “We all know what you want,” Andrew snapped at him.

  “Quiet, both of you,” I said and they stopped. What to do? I felt deceived and yet, I was getting all my needs met. How could this be wrong?

  “Should we go,” Andrew asked. “Have we done too much?”

  “Not at all,” I said and formed a plan on the spot.

  And so it was the rest of that summer. During the day, I would take long walks with Mr. Andrew Tensdale. We would talk books and writers. I would discuss my lesson plans with him, and he would show me his writings. In the evening, I would make passionate love with Mr. Alex Tensdale, sweat and roll with desire. It was the perfect combination.