Cat meowed and arched her hindquarters up for a
scratch. “Hussy,” I scolded with a fond smile as I obligingly
tickled my nails over the base of her tail. The motor revved again
as she turned and settled on the couch beside my thigh.
It was obvious she was really getting into this
bonding thing, so I confided further. “After we dated for a few
months, I accidentally scratched Devon's back one night during sex.
He was Lover Number Two, you know.” I paused in my story while I
considered the ranking and title for a moment. “Well, he was the
second person I had sex with anyway. If you only have sex with
someone once, to get rid of a pesky virginity problem, are they
really considered a Lover?” I shrugged, why split hairs?
“For the sake of true confessions, we'll count him as
the first, but we won't refer to him as Number One—that would be
giving him too much credit.” Yes, that time it DID sound a bit
snarky, even to me. “So, after three months with Devon, I had my
first and only orgasm—with a man anyway.” Oh, yes, definitely
sarcasm. Bitter? Me?
“I have no idea how it happened, because I had always
been so careful, but I dug too hard into his shoulders and I
scratched him.” I looked down toward Cat. “I completely understood
his anger—it must have stung—but I didn't do it on purpose. Did he
take my spontaneous reaction as a compliment? No-oooooh. He threw a
hissy fit. Accused me of marking him up to prevent him from being
with other women.
“Honestly, Cat? It never occurred to me, until that
precise moment, we weren't exclusive. So, I ended my relationship
with Devon. Thirty years old, and I have spent more quality time
with Ricky, Buzz and Oh-Henry than I have with a real human.”
I'm pretty sure I daydreamed there for longer than I
realized before I gave myself a mental shake to snap out of it.
“Damn! When I get home, I will have to get rid of Ken for
half-an-hour so I can get reacquainted with Ricky and friends.
Second order of business is to find myself a lover, Cat—I'm past
due, don't ya think?” Time to move on with my life.
My cell phone chirped, startling me so badly I
dislodged Cat from beside me on the couch.
Girls Just Wanna Have
Fun
: Janey's ring-tone. “Hey Girlfriend, got your errands done
already?”
“Yeah. It’s one of those days where all the traffic
lights were green.” I grinned at her cheerful pleasure in a day
which was running smoothly. She continued, “Meet me at the curb.
Instead of cooking I'll take us to lunch before we pick up Red from
the groomer.”
“Sounds great! I'll be out front in two minutes.
Ciao.” I half-heard her answering goodbye as I disconnected the
call. Leaning forward, I swiped my hand across the coffee table to
find my sunglasses and placed them on my nose. “Well Cat, it’s been
nice chatting with you. I have to tell you, out of all of my
friends, you're probably the best listener.” I smiled as I
formulated a plan in my brain. “I'll take myself out to dinner
tonight for some steak at Spencer's. Maybe I'll chat up the
bartender or a sexy waiter.”
I stood up and headed toward the hallway. “In the
meantime, Cat, pull the covers over your head tonight. When Janey
gets Ken home, you will not get an ounce of sleep, poor girl.”
Pulling on my coat, I caught the faint, teasing scent of sandalwood
again. I really needed to ask Janey about the name of the
fragrance.
The mysterious fragrance was a special blend Janey
concocted at a custom shop in Idaho. The scent didn't have a name;
only a recipe on a card under Janey's account—who knew you could
have an account at a fragrance store? “I spritzed the cushions a
couple weeks ago,” she clearly was pleased and praised my sense of
smell. “I'll call the shop in Coeur d'Alene and have them mail me a
couple of bottles.”
Over a light lunch of salad and soup, Janey gave me
her detailed plan for Operation Ken. The two of them had already
made plans to go to Red Lobster for dinner tonight—which
coincidentally worked well with my plans. Smiling, remembering my
advice to Cat, I encouraged her to take Ken home and screw his
brains out. Further, I didn't expect to see his mindless shell
until after noon, tomorrow.
After assuring me Red's training was sufficient
enough to get him into a restaurant with me, I talked to her about
the G-rated part of my evening plan which consisted of a nice
dinner out—me and my faithful canine companion.
Janey and I picked up a pleasant-smelling,
handsomely-groomed Red, and then she dropped us off at my house. I
explained my evening's objective to Red who pledged his nose to my
cause. He especially liked the part about us going to a steakhouse
for dinner. Dogs are so easy to please.
Ken got Red “dressed” in his harness and I spent a
few minutes adjusting to the handle height difference with the
extra inches in the shoes I planned to wear. The heels put me over
the six-foot mark, so we took a practice walk through the living
room. I let Red steer me around furniture and, oddly, was confident
in his assurances that imaginary protuberances had not sprung out
from the walls to knock me senseless.
I decided I would go without my cane, since Red and I
seemed to do so well. His mental instructions were like a sarcastic
monologue in my head. He had me laughing over his silly
observations about my heels, the happy smell wafting off Ken (I had
to take his word for it), his own joyous thoughts about going out
for the night, and the exciting probability of steak take-out.
Ken left me with a hug and the guarantee my cab
should arrive within the next half-hour. We reviewed the contents
in my purse including credit cards and money. I preferred to use
credit cards, but it was always nice to have cash available if the
need arose.
My tall, lanky frame looks best in uncomplicated
straight lines which hint at the strength and tone of my body. I
have curves, but they are considered gentle contours, unlike
Janey's voluptuousness. I dressed in a sleeveless black, beaded
knee-length dress with a simple V-cut neckline, showing a hint of
my unfettered C-cup breasts. My underwear consisted of a black
thong offset by the lace border of thigh high stockings. Strappy
three-inch heels added sexy length to my long legs. I was
self-conscious about the facial and shoulder scars, deciding to
leave my butt-length hair loose, held back in jeweled clips, to
distract from the worst of the blemishes on my shoulders.
I never wore much make up when I had my sight, so I
didn't see a need to start now. My soft black cashmere sweater-coat
was calf-length and wrapped softly around my knees as I walked.
When the cabby rang the doorbell, I excitedly slid my sunglasses
on. Need I mention, Red felt compelled to remark about my own happy
smell?
Spencer's Steakhouse is located at the Doubletree
Hotel. The cab driver dropped me off where a hotel employee, valet
I assumed, escorted me inside. A woman guided Red and me to the
Steakhouse with a welcoming chatter and refused to accept the tip I
offered for her trouble. Red told me to save my money next time.
“What, do you think I'm not able to follow a scent trail which
leads to food?”
My dog is a smart ass, in the best kind of
way.
The hostess politely asked me if I would like to
follow her to a table, or would I prefer to take her elbow. I
explained to her we would follow, and Red would be able to guide me
to the proper chair if she would be kind enough to pull it away
from the table for me. I also asked to have a chair removed so my
dog could lay by my feet with a line of sight to the entryway.
My waiter, Mark, was a young-sounding man who
patiently explained the evening's specials as he helped me finalize
my meal choices: a house salad, a medium rare rib eye steak covered
in mushrooms and onions, and a side of roasted garlic mashed
potatoes. I assured Red the steak would be large enough to ensure
left overs. A treat to celebrate our new-found independence.
With dinner ordered, Red relayed his unfiltered
observations regarding surrounding diners: a couple on the far side
of the room; a few tables accommodating three or more people who,
we concluded, were probably business associates; and a totally
dysfunctional family of four. Red was fascinated by this last table
which held a mother, father, and two teenagers. They were all
holding phones in their hands, texting. Throughout the meal, they
never spoke to each other, or acknowledged the waitress who reached
around them to set plates down as the courses changed.
If I kept my voice lowered, none of the other diners
were seated within hearing distance. Red informed me the bartender
was female (so much for Plan A), the waiter smelled of a woman, and
at least two distinct children (Plan B went up in flames).
One of the males at a table of, what we assumed were
business associates, was staring at me. Red inferred he seemed more
curious, than interested in me as a woman. With a sigh, I committed
to Plan C: enjoy the meal, with my exceptional canine companion.
Hopefully Operation Ken was progressing with better results, I
thought with a grin.
Red let me know when a new couple came in. The
hostess escorted them by our table, but Red told me they were
seated out of hearing distance and so I could still talk
softly.
“
They smell pretty nervous,”
Red observed.
“Maybe they are on a first date. They would be
nervous if they didn’t know each other very well, and they would be
trying to make a good impression. It can make the couple a little
stressed.” I tore off a piece of bread and popped it in my mouth,
without butter. There was a clattering noise from the newly seated
couple’s table.
“
He dropped his knife. She was so startled, she
knocked over her glass.”
Practice making perfect, thanks to the
nearly steady stream of conversation I was now able to easily pick
out Red’s mind speak from my own thoughts. I could hear Red’s
teasing tone so clearly in my mind.
“Puppy love is so cute,
don’t you think?”
I grinned in appreciation of my dog’s humor. “When he
kisses her goodnight at the door, he’ll probably be so nervous
he’ll end up stepping on her toes. I hate the awkward first date
stage.”
“
Yeah,”
Red replied.
“It’s so much easier
to be a dog. All a dog has to do is sniff another’s butt and within
a minute they know what the other dog likes to eat, if they are
healthy, where they’ve been, and, if the other dog’s a female,
whether or not she’s in heat.”
What could I say to that? In one sentence, he pretty
much summed up what I could only guess about a guy over a two-hour
dinner date.
My salad was served and I slipped Red a slice of
bread with blue cheese dressing when he told me a new man had
entered the restaurant and was being ushered to a table close to
us. He assured me I could still speak quietly, with my head down.
Red informed me the man, an alpha according to his posture and
alertness, had watched us as he approached his table. Now seated,
the man was observing me intently.
“He's not being careful about
it either. He's too far away for me to read his scent.”
I broke off another piece of bread and laid my hand
against the side of the table so my fingers held the bread over the
edge. Tapping my toe against the leg of the table was our
prearranged signal to let him know I had a bite of food ready, in
case he was scanning the restaurant. Hopefully, to the casual
observer, it looked as if I was holding a bite negligently while I
sipped my wine.
Red let me know the coast was clear.
“Ready,”
and I dipped my offering a bit lower. The bread was taken from my
hand with swift, but gentle teeth.
“Oops, we got caught by the
new guy. He is smiling.”
“If he doesn't seem to care, then make sure he's the
only one who sees me hand you food. I don't want the restaurant to
get in trouble if people complain about me feeding you from the
table—I didn't ask Janey what the rules were for guide dogs at
restaurants.”
I took a sip of my Merlot and enjoyed the flavor for
a moment before I tore off a piece of bread for myself. I'd had
enough salad, but Red informed me he really liked the smell and
taste of the dressing, so I tried my best to dip slices of bread
into the remains on my plate before passing them down to him. I
finished my bite and tapped the table again when the remaining
morsel was prepared for my boy.
“
Ready,”
Red warned.
“He caught us again. I
was more careful this time,”
Red assured me.
“He's laughing
at us now.”
Red's tone changed,
“Waiter coming with steak. Oh
man, dinner smells so good.”
I sat back in my chair and was
ready when the server announced himself and asked if he could take
my salad away. I assume the roughage remains were whisked off to a
waiting bus tray and I inhaled the steak's aroma as it was placed
in front of me.
The server cleared his throat nervously, “Errr,
ma’am, I don't know the right way to ask this. I don't want to
offend, but can I give you any assistance in cutting the steak, or
offer any direction as to the food placement?”
I smiled at his well-intentioned thoughts, and
genuinely appreciated him asking if I needed any help. I found it
endearing. Flashing him a grateful smile, “I'm not offended, Mark.
Thank you for asking. I can handle my own cutting, but if you would
be so kind as to pretend my plate is the face of a clock, and the
point farthest from me is 12:00, then tell me where the food is
placed?”