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Relax, Jasmine, I thought as I sat beside him. It wasn’t that serious, I rationalized, but I still felt foreign to this whole dating scene. I mean, Eugene seemed nice enough. He wrote beautiful poetry, and I dug the Billie Holiday record he sent me. I just wondered if he had something under that polyester that would make me appreciate more than his personality. Like I said, it had been a long time.
He took the luxury of placing his hand on my thigh, slowly letting his fingertips take cover under the hem of my black rayon miniskirt. I enjoyed the warmth of his palm running up and down the smoothness of my sheer nylon stocking. I could feel an itch coming from a place that had been estranged from the excitement of a man’s touch. I quickly crossed my legs, knocking his hand down. I knew he saw me blush as I bent over to straighten the Ebony magazines on the coffee table that were already neatly arranged.
“Sorry if I seem a little nervous, Eugene,” I said softly. “It’s been a while since I’ve kept a man’s company.”
He chuckled. “My love life was barely in existence until Frances and Berta introduced us. First dates can be a little awkward, but I’m sure we’ll make out fine,” he said with a wink.
I took notice of his nice smile as I leaned back against the sofa pillow. Pearly straight teeth were his first brownie point for the night. Two things I didn’t like on a man: stained teeth and dirty fingernails. Eugene licked his lips as he eyed the hint of cleavage showing under my red sleeveless, V-neck angora sweater. The eagerness in his eyes, and the tingling of my sweet spot, indicated that dinner would be cut short.
He kissed my hand. “Thanks for inviting me over. You have a lovely home.”
“Thanks,” I said, admiring the fresh coat of French vanilla paint I’d put on the walls a few days ago. The bright color made the space in my cape Cape Cod seem a lot larger. “My house is simple, but tasteful, I think.”
“Ah…tasteful. Leaves something to the imagination.”
I squeezed his hand. “Speaking of taste, dinner’s ready. Would you like to try some of my seafood casserole?”
“I’d love to try everything,” he said, giving me a sly grin.
I slowly got up, smoothing the edges of my sweater over my hips as I sashayed to the kitchen. “Follow me,” I said, a seductive smirk lingering on my face.
“Umm…my pleasure,” he said as he followed close behind. He was a gentleman, helping me bring food from the kitchen to the formal dining area that I’d created out of unused porch space. He pulled out my chair, allowing me to get comfortable, then sat across from me.
“You’re stunning,” he said, reaching for his wine glass.
I nodded. “You’re…so kind.” I prayed the Merlot waiting in my glass would make him look fine by the end of the night.
***
My mind wandered during dinner. I snapped back to reality when Eugene called my name.
“Jasmine, what’s wrong?” he asked, wiping his mouth.
I looked down as I folded the napkin in my lap. “I guess I don’t have much of an appetite for the casserole.”
He reached for my hand. “Is there anything I can do?”
I put my cloth napkin down next to the plate of half-eaten food. I smirked as I got up and went to his side of the table. “Yes. Make me dessert,” I whispered as I sat in his lap.
“Right away,” he said, molding the contours of my ass in his hands. His lips sucked the side of my neck. I pressed my hips against his pelvis. “I’ve been waiting for this night.” He lifted me out of the chair as I wrapped my legs and arms around him.
We were kissing and petting so much, we didn’t make it to the bedroom. He laid me down on the paisley area rug of my living room floor. I swiftly pulled my sweater over my head and unfastened my red lace bra. He breathed heavily as he splattered sloppy kisses all over my chest, like a ravenous beast. I clamped my eyes shut, blocking out emotions. He groped my breasts, roughly squeezing them together.
“Eeeh…!” I screamed in pain. I firmly pushed his mouth away, frowning up at him as he loomed over me. Carnal pleasure was one thing, but his awkwardness would make for a long night.
“Are you okay?”
“I will be, hopefully. Do you have protection?”
“Yes,” he said, anxiously pulling the condom from his pocket. He wiggled out of those ugly pants. “Right here.”
He put the Trojan down on the coffee table as he watched me slip out of my skirt and nylons. When he removed his starched boxers, I realized something was missing in action. I had turned off the living room lamp, which left only light from the candles on the dining room table. Perhaps my vision was compromised from the dim lighting, but I could have s
worn I saw a Tootsie Roll instead of a bratwurst peeping at me.
Get it together, Jasmine, I thought. Your eyesight is probably blurred from drinking too much wine at dinner.
“Are you ready, baby?” he asked as he moved beside me.
