Dinner Should be Enjoyed Naked

Dinner Should be Enjoyed Naked

By Michelle Charpentier

Smashword Edition License notes.

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, place and events either are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, locals, or events either living or dead is purely coincidental.

Copyright©2010 by Michelle Charpentier Smashword Edition.

Wednesday November 22.

What have I done? How could I have so easily committed myself to anything so foolish? I have officially lost my ever-loving mind! I was minding my own business, cheerfully going about my life when I felt the innocent vibration of my cell phone.

Without thinking, I flip it open saying, Hello, while continuing to rifle through the stack of papers on my desk. The voice on the other end made my hand freeze in mid-shuffle. It was Rick—big strong, handsome Rick. Rick with the athletic legs; muscular thighs that remind me of an Olympic weight lifter; six pack abs; powerful arms; and hands, which are soft and gentle enough to send tingles down my spine, just thinking about them. Add his curly black hair, combined with those chocolate brown eyes and I’m three quarters of the way to an orgasm. If I hear one, Hey baby, through the receiver I will have to grip the desk ‘cause I’m going all the way. Luckily, my office door is always shut!

After a few minutes of idle chit chat, I silently congratulated myself for staying cool. He has no idea I want him—all of him—to spend hours entertaining me in the privacy of my bedroom. My, oh, so lonely bedroom. Picture the classic scene of tumbleweed rolling across the prairies encountering nothing but dust, and you get an idea just how little action that room has seen in the past few years. This man could change all that, but I cannot seem too eager. If I take my time, let him know I enjoy our little bouts of conversation he may eventually ask me out on a date.

At this point, I will have to research what constitutes a date, since it has been so long since I have had one. I would hate to miss an invitation because I don’t recognize the lingo. Suddenly I’m jolted back to reality. Did I really hear him say what I think he said?

So, how about it? Will you have dinner with me Saturday? Of course, I would love to, I respond automatically.

Apparently, when my mind wanders my libido takes over. Oddly enough, my voice remains calm during a hormone-induced reply. This is good to know if I ever find myself at, say, a strip club when that all-important phone call comes in from the president. Men in g-strings gyrating close by, will have no effect on my ability to negotiate world peace. Yeah, for all humanity. Right now, however, my palms are sweating and my pulse is racing over the idea of having dinner alone with the man of my dreams. Thank goodness, video phones have not invaded the communication market or I would be busted. The key to pulling this dinner off is not to act too eager. Acting like an infatuated schoolgirl won’t do. I’m definitely past the age of giggling over a hot body. Okay, I should be. Time will tell if I have actually attained adulthood. My brain interrupts my angst, prodding me to pay attention, since dreamboat is still talking.

Great, how about I pick you up at eight o’clock? We can go anywhere you’d like; any favorites?

My mind is blank. I could not name a restaurant to save my life. Surprise me, I stammer. I trust your taste.

What a cop out. Can you say blithering idiot? Promise me a meal and I lose any ability for rational thought. Time to put the hormones back in control; they seem to be able to function intelligently under pressure. With any luck, I will at least get through the meal before he discovers I’m a complete idiot.

Then I will see you Saturday night, he purrs into the phone before it goes silent.

I savor the tone of his voice for a few minutes. His deep, husky tone had caressed each word before transcending the airwaves to my ear and sending shivers down my spine. I swear he spoke this way just for me.

I lean back in my chair, arms stretched toward the ceiling and coming to rest behind my head, and savor my awakened senses. A big beautiful manly, man wants to take me to dinner, and if I play my cards right, spend some quality alone time afterwards. Soft music playing in the background as candle light dances in the shadows, sending sensuous aromas wafting through the air, create the perfect atmosphere for love, runs through my mind. Right now, I would settle for some heavy petting, but I’m aiming high.

Reality starts to creep into my fantasy when my eyes land on the calendar. Saturday is three days away. Repeat, Saturday is three days away. Jolted upright, my mind finally registers, Saturday is three days away! Every known stereotype of women and dates scream through my fantasy-loving mind. I have nothing to wear. Are we going somewhere fancy or casual? What color is he wearing? Must we match? Certainly, we should not clash. What about shoes? Should I wear heels or flats? Will one get me more action than the other? Okay, put that question at the end of the list. My hair is a mess; is there time for a cut or perm? I really should be more prepared for a social life, but who knew all my begging to a higher power would finally pay off?

Looking for inspiration and a chance to brag a little, I pick up the phone to call my sister.

Hello, Marsha’s voice echoes from the cell phone. "

Hey sis, how’s it going?" A few pleasantries are always necessary before asking anyone for advice. It puts the person in a good mood so they forget how needy you really are.

Just fine. You have today off?

No, I’m at work trying to figure out how to move this product before the end of the month. Nobody wants to buy anything when they can bitch at me for free. I do have one major problem to tackle. I’ve just been asked out on a date and haven’t a clue what to wear. I was hoping you could help me out; any ideas?

A real date or just coffee?

"This will be a real dinner date where a waiter takes your order and brings real food.

Really! And a man is taking you there? My goodness, this must be a first.

Thanks for rubbing that in, now how about some help.

Okay, what are you leaning toward—dress or pants?

I was thinking of a nice knee length dress, with heels. I just don’t know what color. I’ve always worn boring clothes. I want this outfit to sizzle.

Better make sure your boobs show then. Men can’t resist cleavage.

Boobs? What are you, twelve?

Stop being such a prude. You should be able to say boobs at fifty. Come on, repeat after me: boobs, boobs, boobs.

I could hear the mirth in Marsha’s voice as she coaxed me. That is one family trait we all share: the ability to tease each other without taking it personally. A more normal family would not survive the conversations we had when the five of us got together. Our own mother shied away from them at times; not embarrassed over the context but uneasy with the candor. I think self-preservation would take over to keep her out of harm’s way if a bomb suddenly went off. With her in the distance, at least there would be someone to call 911 if necessary.

Okay, smarty pants, think it over and I’ll call you later. Flipping the phone shut, I hold it in my hands for a few moments to keep the connection with my sister just a little longer. I haven’t seen her in a few years and I miss her. Little sisters are a cute addition to the family when they first arrive as babies. Suddenly they begin to walk and talk and before long, the expectation is that you will keep them entertained. With a six-year age gap, we really didn’t have much in common as children. Before long, we were blessed with another sister. Initially this was a good thing, since the two little ones could keep themselves occupied. Mom assured me the girls would still need my companionship for the next few years, so then I had to entertain two.

The best part of having two little sisters is that they grow into women, quickly. While I was off establishing my life, they grew into intelligent worldly women with opinions I could trust. We don’t always take the same path but I can rely on their judgment to be solid, when I need their help. In reality, little sisters are only a pain for the first ten to eighteen years. That leaves at least fifty to eighty years to enjoy the camaraderie only sisters can provide. Every woman should have a sister.

A knock on the office door reminds me I’m still at work. Thoughts of dancing in the moonlight have to be pushed aside for now; the public awaits my expertise to help solve their problems. I love my job, but can’t these people see that my need to find the perfect dress takes precedence over their broken appliance? Well, I just hope none of them are mind readers; otherwise, there will be red faces on both sides of the counter. Deciding whether to wear a thong, briefs, or go au natural is a decision best made among the voices already residing in my head. I don’t need strangers butting in with unwanted opinions.

I just need to concentrate for a few more hours, and then I can agonize over my lack of suitable dating attire, in the comfort of my easy chair. In retrospect, I realize this would not be such a problem if I had dated more, as a teenager. Damn it all to hell my lack of interest in mindless teenage boys! Why did I spend so much time reading textbooks instead of fashion magazines? I bet all those cheerleaders who I considered too girly have closets full of sexy clothes, fabulous shoes, and pretty lingerie to fit any occasion. I’m smart, I can catch up quickly; just watch me. I’m a woman and I understand shopping comes naturally to us. We will put that stereotype to the test, big time, in the next few days; trust me.

As I wander back to the front of the store, customers start lining up at the counter, waiting to pay for their items. Since a big part of my job is taking other people’s money in exchange for merchandise, I really should