Page 65 of Perverted Fantasies

“Sure,” I said, once I’d convinced myself she wasn’t just messing with me. “I’d love to go on a date with you.”

#

“So what’s this all about?” I asked.

We were at Mastro’s, eating steaks, sharing a bottle of wine that Amber had ordered—she was only 19, but she looked years older on this night, and the waiter never asked for ID—and so far having a great time, despite this above question being at the forefront of my mind the entire evening so far. It was only after finishing the second glass of wine that I’d found enough guts to ask.

“I just thought it would be good if we got to know each other a little better,” she said. “What, with this being our last night together and all.”

Our last night? Panic shot through my system. Had I done something wrong? Pissed her off somehow?

“You’re leaving tomorrow?” I said carefully.

She nodded. “My parents will be back in the afternoon.”

“But I thought they weren’t coming home for another couple of days.”

“They had a change of plans,” she said.

I dropped my head, not wanting Amber to see how distraught and disappointed I was. But it was no use. It was radiating off me in waves. “So, after tonight, I’ll never see you again?”

“I didn’t say that,” she said.

My eyes shot up in surprise.

“That’s part of what tonight is about,” Amber said. “Deciding whether or not I’ll be looking you up anytime soon.”

“What do you mean?”

She took a drink of her wine and offered me a little smile, as though she was explaining to a 3-year old why the sky is blue . “What I mean is, even though you started off as nothing more than something to keep my busy for a couple of days, somewhere along the way, I grew to kind of like you. Or at least, what little I know about you.”

My face turned red and I dropped my eyes. As I probably stated before, taking compliments isn’t one of my strongest areas.

“But considering all we’ve done is fuck for the last two days, I decided that we needed to spend some time outside the house, talking, hanging out, just getting to know each other. Unless, of course, you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s not that,” I said. “It’s just . . . this isn’t what I was expecting. I just figured after these couple of days were up, you’d disappear back into the sunset, never to be seen again.”

“Is that what you want? To never hear from me again after tonight?”

“Not at all,” I answered immediately. “But I guess I don’t really know where this is going. Suppose we hang out and get along well and start to actually like each other. What then? Are we talking boyfriend and girlfriend here? Fuck buddies? What?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of friends with benefits,” she said. “Nothing serious, just, you know, maybe get together every once in a while and hang out. Do whatever comes natural. It’s not like I’m proposing that I stop making porn and you drop out of college and we move in together or anything like that. It’s just . . .” She trailed off and shook her head.

“What?”

Amber took a deep breath and looked up at me. For the first time since I’d met her, she actually seemed like a regular human being instead of some super goddess from another planet. With emotions and fears and doubts, just like the rest of us. I was catching a glimpse of her with her guard down. It was the most exhilarating moment of the last few days.

“It’s just that I think you’re pretty cool, and I don’t want this to be our last night together,” she said.

“I think you’re cool too,” I said. “And I think we should spend many more nights together.”

She smiled. I smiled. She laughed. I laughed. We both drank from our glass of wine. And then we started to talk. For real.

#

I won’t bore you with the details of the date. But suffice it to say, the more we got to know each other, the more we liked each other. Which is quite a feat when you think about it. And by the end of our date, we decided that we did want to see each other in the future. We weren’t sure what it would bring, but that was half the fun of it. So we went back to her house, and made love one final time.

We didn’t fuck. We didn’t screw. We didn’t have sex.

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