Friday, August 30, 2013
I had a dream last night we were taking a bath together.
Curious way to start an e-mail, he thought, especially from a casual acquaintance. They had met at a writer's workshop in New York and wound up spending time together. Nothing serious; drinks, dinner a few nights. One night they had gone to The Bronx to see the Yankees. The specter of no strings attached sex had floated around them during a particularly intense drinking session, where they had taken turns making up opening lines of stories. She probably would have gone back to his room with him that night, if he had asked, but decorum and an old fashioned sense of propriety had made him escort her back to her room with nothing more than a good night kiss and some gentle grinding at her door. The next morning they said their goodbyes and promised to keep in touch, which they had with the occasional e-mail or comment on each other's writing. He certainly had no reason to anticipate this type of message. He studied it a moment, trying to decide how to respond. He took a sip of coffee, the serene morning suddenly less tranquil.
Was it fun?
He went back to his writing, wondering how she would reply. He tried to keep his mind on his work, but felt himself starting to tense up waiting for her to answer. He jumped when the computer 'dinged' her response in his mailbox.
It was comfortable, like we were an old married couple and we'd been doing it for years. You were smoking a cigar. :(
He chuckled. The only thing she had complained about was his love of a good cigar. It wasn't a problem out here on the prairie, but it had proved problematic in Manhattan. He tried to stay down wind of her when they were out on the street, but that often conflicted with his need to be a gentleman and walk near the curb. Thankfully, she was almost a foot shorter than him, so he was able to keep most of the smoke away from her face. He smiled at the memory.
No body's perfect. What happened next?
As soon as he hit SEND he thought maybe he'd pushed it too far. Did he want to know what happened next? She was a master at the art of erotic fiction, fearless in her ability to write about sex without blushing or flinching. What if her dream had proceeded in a pornographic episode, or worse, a moment of mortifying embarrassment for his inability to perform? He got up from his desk and called for his dog, thinking it was time to go for a walk. He was just about to close the front door when he heard the computer 'ding' again. He hesitated and looked longingly at his lap top. He could always access his account via his phone. His dog pulled at her leash, pleading with him to hurry up. He closed the door behind him and let her lead him away from her answer.