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“I’ll be back soon.”
I couldn’t imagine where he was going. To call a take out place maybe? He had invited me for dinner, so I assume there would be food at some point.
The sounds were strange at first. Rhythmic tapping, as though metal on wood. Of course. He was chopping veggies. Simon had invited me to his house for a dinner he was going to make. I had to pinch myself to make sure I was still awake. The pain mixed with my elation as the distinctive sound of an oven door opening echoed through the house.
“What are you making?” I asked, unable to stop myself.
“Pizza,” he said, popping a bottle of wine from the nearby rack.
“You can make pizza at home?”
“Ate lot of take out as kid?” he asked, not unkindly, setting a glass of wine in front of me.
“No but when we did it was pizza. I’m not really allowed to have wine, the bottle at my place had been there when I moved in. I-I was trying to impress you.”
“Ah, gotcha,” he said, dumping my half glass into his making a full one, “to answer your question, yes, though to be fair it can be difficult to do well in a domestic oven. Most pizza ovens, which are a very specific design, have what’s called a heating stone. You can get those for domestic ovens now. Otherwise, it is important to set the heat high enough. I mean really high, 450, around there.”
“Where did you learn how to cook?” I asked, curious.
“At my grandma’s side. She’d tell me how to set the oven for different dishes before I was tall enough to reach the knobs. I never forgot. She wanted me to be self-sufficient in the essentials of life, so I learned how to cook all my favorite foods, as well as how to was and fix clothes. I didn’t think she was suspicious about my ability to get married but wanted me to be ready just in case.”
“That’s sweet,” I said.
“I also wouldn’t want to put all that on my partner anyway,” Simon continued, “I think she knew that. I have a thing about being the driver of my own bus. Not liking to have to rely on anyone else.”
I wanted to say something but nothing came readily to mind. Besides which the smell had started, capture most of my attention. It smelled wonderful. Real gourmet stuff. My tummy started to rumble just from the smell of it.
“Patience, darling,” he said, playfully patting my tummy through my sweater.
I couldn’t help but giggle, sparks crackling between us as our eyes met. An unspoken connection made.
Before long, the pizza was done, just as Simon had promised. Another point in his favor in terms of trust. Ordinarily I would have been scared going to a guy’s house. No matter how well I knew him, which was questionable in Simon’s case. It didn’t matter though. I felt a strong connection to him and wanted to be around him as much as possible.
“Wow,” I marveled, as he set a truly lovely slice of pizza in front of me on an ironstone plate.
“Thanks,” he beamed.
I was like an orgasm in my mouth. The pleasure center pleasures in my little brain lighting up like a 4th of July sky. I felt like a princess sitting in that fancy kitchen of that awesome house, eating the best pizza ever.
Before long the pizza was gone. I’d eaten my share and then some. My metabolism was pretty high because of my training. As my weight went down, my need for food hand gone down in some weird, twisted irony.
“Sorry,” I said, suppressing a belch.
“No, no, it’s fine. I made it to be eaten. Do you train?”
“Yeah, contortion,” I said, “I started running to get my weight down to be able to do it. I’m not perfect yet. I’ve seen some girls who can really twist up like pretzels but I’m certainly flexible.
“Are you now?” he asked, laying a hand on my thigh.
“Y-yes, sir,” I said.
I could feel the warmth of his hand through my yoga pants and was getting super excited. I want him to touch me but didn’t dare ask.
“Would, you like dessert?” he asked, backing off.
“Yes, please,” I said, my voice still barely a whisper.
“Be right back,” he said.
After what felt like an eternity, the sweet smell of fresh blueberry pie came into the dining room from the kitchen, followed closely by Simon.
“My favorite,” I said, as he put the pie down in front of me, a blob of whipped cream on top.
“Glad to hear it,” he said, giving me a tender kiss.
I fought the urge to blush. There was nothing wrong with the kiss and I refused to allow myself to be embarrassed. I loved what was happening and was determined to enjoy it.
