Eat Dessert First

I love walking through the back streets of Boston in the Summertime. Everyone’s strolling, smiling, sometimes tagging along a plethora of children, or dogs, or, God forbid, both. This cobblestoned street in the North End was deserted and a sweet smell of baking somethings beckoned me into the Bakery at the corner. Bells on the door jangled as I opened it. The air was warm and moist with sweet smells. The woman behind the counter was dark-skinned, gorgeous.

“You would like what, today?” She smiled and bowed a little. She wore white heels that thrust the muscles of her calves forward. Her firm legs stretched upwards toward the hem of her short, white skirt. Her strong, shapely thighs pressed against the thin fabric. Her flat midriff was bare and exposed a perfectly formed bellybutton. A red, half-shirt covered her breasts, exposed at the top with a locket snuggling her cleavage. Thick black hair framed her soft, inviting smile, and her fearless eyes… they captivated me. One glowed with innocence, the other glinted mischievously. I liked the other one and I stared into it.

What do I want? She had asked.

I want to have you over for dinner, I thought, then have each other for dessert.

I want to spend the meal anticipating later, brushing up against you, catching an occasional glimpse at a shapely leg that I know I’ll soon have in my hands. I want to exchange mischievous glances hot enough to boil blood. I want to watch your tongue slide food off your fork and between your lips knowing that I’m next. I want to admire your nipples as they press into the front of your blouse and wonder how they’ll feel between my lips. Are they hot? Are they stiff? Are they salty? Can I make you moan by sucking on them just right and twirling circles with my tongue?

Then I want to open some wine, and gaze into your flickering candlelit eyes as the excitement builds for those excruciating last remaining moments before we begin to kiss.

I want to touch your hair, run my hands over your long, sensitive neck. As your clothes fade away I want to softly rub warm massage oil onto your back, caressing your firm butt and quivering, inexorably parting legs. Then, with my slippery hands on your slim waist I want you to slowly turn over, sliding my hands across your belly. As I begin to smooth the oil onto the front of you with my electric fingertips I want you to stretch luxuriously with your arms reaching way back over your head, wrists crossed, as if bound with an invisible silken cord. Purr as I touch your neck. Ahhh when I reach your breasts. Then begin to moan, squirm, and thrash as I move lower still.

I want the rest of the night to be filled with touching, massaging, scratching, and brushing. Then squeezing, exploring, licking, and sucking. I want you to show me the places that drive you absolutely wild.

Then, just before we’re exhausted, I want to move down the length of your body with my fingers and mouth and, having learned just what you like, begin to bring you higher and higher with my tongue and my lips. I’ll know I’ve found the place when I hear you gasp and feel you stiffen beneath me. They won’t hear you in Boston, not even in Manchester, but outside in the parking lot a few heads may turn.

Then it’s my turn. Every cell in my body is charged, and crackling for release. I want you to trace your fingernails down my chest and down to my waist, your tongue flickering behind. Then I want you to take me into your mouth with so much heat and passion that fire shoots through me. Then just as I’m about to explode, I want you to squeeze in that special spot, look up and , with your mischievous eye say, “Not Yet.”

Then I want you to begin again, and again, until I’m delirious with desire. Your tongue, and lips, your hands, your fingers, and your fingernails each driving me wild with a passion of their own. Then, as I’m about to let go with every fiber of my being I want you to grasp me with both of your hot, slippery hands and whisper “Now!”

“Now!” I whispered, through hot, parting lips. “Now!”

“Yes!” she answered. “And what would like now?”

“Ummm, a loaf of bread please.” I stammered, reluctantly returning to reality.

“OK. And what would you like for dessert?” Her mischievous eye glinted.