According to plan, she had a fridge full of goodies. For starters, she was cooking dinner tonight. When Max left Elm Ridge at 5:00, he wouldn’t stop to eat anything, and by the time he got to her house, she wouldn’t be the only thing he’d be hungry for. A man who’d just driven four hours needed to buttress his body, as well as needing sustenance for the soul.
Kari made coffee, logged on while it was brewing, and downloaded an uncharacteristically brief, but essentially hurried, letter from Max. He swore, “Only a tornado picking up my car and depositing it in Kansas will prevent me from being at your door at 9:00—give or take a few minutes, depending on traffic.”
She barely knew what she was doing at work. Somehow, she made it through the day, but she was definitely on autopilot. Her mood still veered between exultant and worried. Max was coming! But what if his car broke down on the road? No, it would be fine...he would get there on time and without trouble. But what if he didn’t like her as well in person? No, he knew her from email and the phone; there’d be no problem! But what if Kari-in-person seemed substantially different from Kari-online or Kari-by-phone? No, Kari was Kari. She’d been honest with him; she hadn’t tried to present a “better” face. If he liked her by email and phone, he’d like her in person. But what if he didn’t? No! Stop worrying—he’d be here in less than twelve hours, and things would be fine....in less than eight hours....in four hours.
Somehow she’d made it through to 5:00 quitting time. Her palms were sweaty, her hair a mess from her fingers worrying through it, her nerves a wreck, but it was 5:00, and Max would be leaving Elm Ridge
now.
But it was
only
5:00; he wasn’t due till 9:00, and she hadn’t that much to do till he got there. It would be nice not to have to rush around frantically, getting ready, but how was she going to make these last four hours pass by?
In her eagerness to get home, Kari found herself doing 55 in a 40 mph zone.
I could have an accident—that would really ruin the weekend.
She slowed down to a 35 mph crawl. She wouldn’t be home to greet Max if she was in a hospital or police station. Ultra-cautious, she all but inched the car the rest of the way home.
She made one stop along the way, at a local card shop, purchasing a banner that read
WELCOME HOME
. They didn’t have one that just read
WELCOME,
but Kari reasoned that “home is where the heart is,” so
WELCOME HOME
was appropriate, after all. And maybe this would actually be Max’s home in the future.
Bustling about the kitchen, she prepared the meal she’d serve him when he arrived. It was only 6:15, too early to put anything on to cook yet. Nervously fluttering around the house, Kari checked for dust, clutter, any discordant notes, but she’d been keeping up with the housework all week, and the house was in immaculate condition.
She ran a bubble bath, intending to luxuriate, but she was too excited to linger in the tub. She settled into the aromatic bubbles, but she couldn’t lie back in the tub and relax, and finally, she washed herself scrupulously and got out again. It was still only 7:00. She put the chicken on to cook. Not your ordinary stuffed chicken, it was one of her favorite recipes, and she hoped it would make a hit with Max. Looking at her watch, she sighed when she saw how early it still was and drifted into the living room.
Booting up the computer, she tried to compose a love poem to Max, but she found herself writing lines that were either cloying or clichéd, and finally she gave up the effort. At 7:30 she returned to the kitchen, peered at her vegetable casserole, checked her watch for the bazillionth time, and pulled the lid off the other casserole dish, in which were her potatoes. Then she set the table, using real linen napkins and putting pretty, deep-blue candles in her candleholders.
Then she wandered back to the computer, logged online, and found two letters from friends. She hoped writing to them would distract her from her nervousness, but instead her nervousness distracted her from concentrating on her email. She wrote both replies with half a head, stopping at 8:00 to start the potatoes cooking. At 8:15 she was left with nothing special to do, too restless to wander the internet downloading recipes or reading the news.
She changed into a jade green pantsuit with a big, loose top, applied fresh makeup, and fussed with her hair. It was still only 8:30. After putting up the veggie casserole, she paced the house looking for anything out of place. Picking up the phone, she started to dial Lylah’s number, remembered Steve, and changed her mind, started to dial Jeff’s number, remembered the events of the evening before, complete with his statement that he hadn’t been quite honest with her, and again, changed her mind.
The purr of a motor outside her window caught her ear. Running to the window, she made out headlights in her driveway, though she couldn’t tell what make or color of car they were shining from. Was it Max? Should she let him in the front door—because he was special—or the kitchen door—because—hopefully—he would soon be “family?”
As she stood at the window, dithering over which door to open, Max…yes, it was definitely him...settled it by striding briskly toward the front door. Scampering to the door, Kari managed to get there first, throwing it wide and calling out, “Max?” though it wasn’t really a question at this point.
There was an awkward moment when he got to the front door. She wanted to throw her arms around him...yet, she’d never met him face to face before, and it seemed odd hugging a “stranger.” Yet, surely, this man was no stranger. They’d shared wishes, shared secrets, shared sex talk on the phone.
Max, for his part, seemed just as unsure of his next move. He stood there, seeming hesitant, finally asking, “Kari?”
“Of course it’s me! Come in!” And he did, putting his suitcase down in the middle of the room and letting her put her arms around him. After a barely perceptible beat, he responded, wrapping his arms around her, holding her close to him.
The thickness of his coat came between them, and she resented its intrusion, its presence between her hungry body and the body she yearned to feel against her. How would she get to know the shape and feel, the texture and strength of her new lover’s physicality, if all these damn layers of material got in the way? “Take this off.” It was almost more a command than a suggestion. At very least, it was a request.
Max removed the coat, and Kari took it to hang it up. But she ate up the sight of him before turning her back to go to the closet. He had a body that had known exercise, a body that in no way but the slightest swell of belly betrayed his love of good food. Kari had imagined him more rotund despite the photo she had of him, which clearly showed he didn’t share her weight problem.
When she turned back to him, after hanging the coat away, she found him looking at her intently. “Do I look like you pictured me?” she asked.
“No one ever does,” he answered very quickly.
“Let me put your suitcase upstairs.”
“It’ll wait,” Max said. Then, after a minute. “Well, at least let me carry it up the stairs myself. And I can see the rest of the house while I’m at it.”
Kari proudly gave him the grand tour, pausing at the computer to point out where she got his email and wrote back to him. Upstairs, she actually blushed on leading him into the bedroom. She had a guest room upstairs, too, though she barely gave him time to stick his head in the door. She seldom spent any time in there, herself, except to browse among her bookcases, which were in there. And these days, her own life was so exciting that novels bored her by comparison.
“Dinner will be ready in a few minutes,” Kari said when they’d got back downstairs. “You have time for a drink first.”
“Good idea!” Max said, accepting a scotch and soda and producing the smoked oysters he’d promised. Kari, feeling unaccountably nervous, clinked her glass against his so hard that she nearly knocked it out of his hand. She said, “To us.”
Max took a deep breath, then clinked her glass in return, toasting, “To happiness.
“So, how long have you lived here now?” Max asked, and they settled into a comfortable conversation about safe subjects...houses, hometowns, nothing too intimate. Kari was surprised to find that it felt like she was getting to know Max all over again. She had thought when he walked in her door, it would feel to her like a long-lost lover had come home. Instead, there was this newness, this awkwardness, this strangeness. And from the stiff, halting quality his conversation fell into intermittently, she sensed he was feeling it too.
They finished their drinks just as Kari decided dinner was ready. She lit the candles on the table, turned down the lights, and cheerily sang out, “Dinner’s on.” Then, as Max seated himself, she carried the food to the table. “Will you carve?” she asked. “I’m so inept at it, it’s pathetic.”
“It’s not exactly my forte either, my dear,” Max said. It was the first time he had called her “my dear” since arriving. The familiar words made her feel better.
“We’ll have chopped chicken if I do it,” she warned him, so he carved, doing a passable job of it, and the two of them sat to eat. Grateful for the food as an excuse not to have to make conversation, they did little talking.
Kari was pleased; everything had turned out perfectly—the chicken, the stuffing, the veggies, the potatoes. Max put away seconds and, in the case of the chicken and the stuffing, thirds. Kari marveled that his figure didn’t betray his appetite.
She opened her mouth to ask, “How do you eat so much and stay so trim?” then thought better of it. It might bring up the subject of
her
girth, and she didn’t want to discuss the subject of weight with him yet.
He helped her clear the table and offered to help with the dishes. “You’ve been driving for four hours,” she told him. “I’ll load the dishwasher and be done with it. If you want to shower...?”
“Good idea,” he said. He already had used the upstairs bathroom while she was showing him the house, so he knew where it was and went up while she finished tidying up after dinner. She rushed, and he was still in the shower when she got upstairs. Good! She slipped into her negligee, anxiously peering into the mirror to see how much of her size it betrayed. She finally decided that there was no hiding the fact she was fat, but that at least the negligee didn’t emphasize that fact.
To be safe, though, she got in bed and pulled the covers up to just below her breasts. She turned off the lamp on his side, leaving just her lamp lit. She’d turn that one out soon enough—when he’d had a chance to appreciate the negligee—and then she’d make love to him in the dark.
He emerged from the bathroom naked. His organ betrayed no eagerness, but Kari knew she would soon fix that. As he sat on the edge of the bed, she kissed his bare and slightly freckled back. He leaned back toward her. “I’ve waited a long time for this,” she throatily told him. Her flickering lips worked their way up to his shoulder.
Max swung around, got his legs up on the bed, and got under the covers with Kari. The aggressor, she ran one hand fervently up and down his chest, appreciating the absence of many hairs; only a light sprinkling forested his upper body. She looked at his face, so much more handsome than in his photo, and her heart smiled.
Turning his head, Max caught her square on the lips. At first his kiss felt cool, but gradually, it grew more ardent. Kari returned the kiss with a hunger born of long anticipation. Max’s lips parted, bearing her lips with them. His tongue snaked into her mouth, exploring within as if he had never insinuated his tongue in a mouth before and was in uncharted territory.
Probing, parrying, he met her tongue and slithered around it. She fervently pressed her considerable body against his, no longer concerned whether he saw, felt, or cared about her girth. Giving herself to him, she wrapped one arm around his waist and pulled him tight to her straining body, her lower parts pressing against his. She was gratified to feel his male organ uncurling, stiffening, pressing against her insistently. She welcomed the urgent pressure as she would welcome him into her shortly.
He put his hand on her derriere, pulling her to him even tighter. Their bodies ground together, a circular motion that propelled them into greater degrees of desire. She undulated against him, mimicking the motions of lovemaking without entry. His organ, lodged between them, swelled impossibly large and rigid.
Surrendering to a shiver, Kari took the lead again and wrapped her hand around his impressively rigid, yet spongy, organ. Max slipped a hand inside the top of her negligee and palmed her nipple. Another, stronger shiver raced through her, and she thrust her breasts out, pushing her nipple against his palm. Stroking her aureole tenderly, Max set off fire flashes in her secret chasm.
“I don’t need any more foreplay,” Kari finally gasped. “I can’t wait. Take me now.”
He was rigid; he was ready; he yanked the negligee off her as she switched off the bedside lamp, suddenly conscious of her figure again. Max rolled atop her, his firm body pressing down on her jiggly, cushy body. Their intimate organs met, and hers enveloped his. He slid into her, and she welcomed him home. When he started to pull back, she tightened up as if to prevent him from rocking inside her. Circling with his hips, he stirred inside her without pulling back.
“My Max, my man, my lover.” She had meant to murmur the endearments, but in her urgent need, and with him now pounding in and out, above her and in her, the words came out in emphatic spasms, and in more of a shout than a whisper.