“I pleasure by hand.”

“Those are the ones I want to talk about.”

“Of course.”

He leaned closer, resting his elbows on the table. “I want to hear about those fantasies. The ones that keep you up for hours.”

“I don’t know, Dan. Yes, I promised to be frank, but I’m not sure I can be this frank. This is private stuff.”

“That’s the point.”

“Still…”

Dinner salads and bread arrived, giving her a reprieve, but he wasn’t about to let her off the hook. He could tell she was feeling more than discomfort, that the conversation, if played well, could lead to much pleasurable mischief. He intended to play it for all it was worth.

They ate for a bit, and he didn’t push, but when she’d eaten her second piece of warm sourdough, and had just a few bits of arugula left in her bowl, he figured it was time. “You want another drink?”

“Yes,” she said too quickly.

He ordered them both a refill, waited for the plates to be cleared, then turned just enough in his seat that she had his whole attention. “Shoot,” he said.

“If only I could.”

He laughed, but he didn’t budge. “Tell me about the most frequent fantasy. The one you come back to the most often.”

“I’m afraid you’ll find it terribly pedestrian.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just tell me the truth.”

“Fine. But if I burst into flames, you’re explaining to the fire department.”

“Deal.”

He leaned back, making sure she couldn’t see his crotch from where she sat. She didn’t need to know what kind of reaction she was getting. At least not yet.

“I suppose the most frequent fantasy is the one where I’m alone in a cabin in the woods. It’s dark, and the winds are strong outside. I have a fire roaring in the fireplace.”

“What are you wearing?”

“A robe.”

“The kimono?”

She looked at him as if he was getting close to some imaginary line. He leaned back an inch, put his hands by his sides.

“Sometimes. Sometimes it’s another robe.”

“Okay. Sorry to interrupt.”

“It’s your nickel.”

“Right, but I’ll try to be quiet.”

“Okay, so where was I?”

“Alone. Cabin. Wind. Robe.”

She frowned at her drink. “I’m warm, and grateful to be out of the cold. I lie down on a big fur rug in front of the fire, and I’m kind of mesmerized by the flames. Before I know it, I’m touching myself.”

“How?”

She glared once, then went back to staring. “Slow, sensual. I’m in no rush. The crackling of the fire makes me drowsy, but not sleepy. My hand moves down until I find…”

He nodded.

“Then I close my eyes, and as it gets closer…”

He held his breath, praying she wouldn’t stop.

“…I hear something. I open my eyes, and there’s a man standing right next to me, watching me.”

“Who is he?”

“I don’t know. He’s just a man. Dark, big, well-muscled. I don’t know how long he’s been there, and I’m not at all embarrassed at what he’s seen. I just keep touching myself. He takes off his shirt, then his boots. And then he reaches for his belt.

Dan had to have a drink. He wanted to place the glass of ice on his erection, but he thought that might be a little blatant.

“He undoes his fly, and slowly takes off his pants. He’s, uh, hard.”

Dan coughed.

She glared again.

“Sorry.”

“This is hard enough.”

“I’ll say.”

That got him another glare. But it didn’t stop her. She just found that fascinating glass again, and went on. “Once he’s undressed, he lies down next to me. We kiss. For a long while. Then he starts touching me in the same places I touched myself. First, my breasts, but it’s different because his hands are so large and rough. It’s a totally different experience. He tells me to stop. To touch him instead, and I do. Then his hands move down my body until he, you know.”

“Yeah.”

“And he starts rubbing in small circles, the pressure is just right, not too hard or soft, and he keeps rubbing, and I let him go and I start getting closer and closer, and then I come like gangbusters, howling, and he climbs on top of me, spreads my thighs with his legs and he slams into me like he’s found the mother lode.”

Dan exhaled a breath he’d held forever. Jessica slugged back the rest of her drink. The waitress coughed, put their drinks down and backed away, her face as red as the cherry in her whiskey sour.

FIVE FACTS YOU SHOULD KNOW ABOUT MEN

1. Men like to barbecue. Men will cook if danger is involved.

2. Men who have pierced ears are better prepared for marriage. They’ve experienced pain and bought jewelry.

3. Marrying a divorced man is ecologically responsible. In a world where there are more women than men, it pays to recycle.

4. All men hate to hear “We need to talk about our relationship.” These seven words strike fear in the heart of even the strongest male.

5. Men have higher body temperatures than women. If your heating goes out in winter, sleep next to a man. Men are like portable heaters that snore.

Source: Hope, Paco “Facts About Men”

http://funnies.paco.to/factsOnMen.html

MARLA LOOKED in the bathroom mirror and held back a grin. About ten minutes ago, she’d covered her face with a bright green herbal mask, one she’d found in Cosmo, that was purported to make her skin positively glow. She’d also conditioned her hair with mashed bananas, and timed it so that she could wash the whole mess off at once. But that wasn’t for another fifteen minutes. In the meantime, she’d pulled out her razor and shaving cream and sat herself on the bathroom counter to start the long and tedious process of removing all signs of hair from the neck down.

Of course, her thoughts were on the day, on the incredible time she’d spent with Shawn. Yeah, yeah, she knew it didn’t mean anything, but he’d been so extraordinarily nice to her, it seemed like a dream.

They’d talked about his childhood and hers, which weren’t so terribly different. She’d been the youngest of four, he of five. She’d gotten a strange sort of encouragement from her parents to stretch herself and accomplish, where he’d had the faith of his mother to buoy his spirits. Where they differed most was that Shawn’s father was a dour and uncompromising man who had believed Shawn’s looks automatically made him suspect, and he’d tormented his son constantly, accusing him of being a “fag” and of having feminine ways. His father’s treatment had been terribly hard on Shawn, who was a sensitive boy, and had caused him to be wary of every emotion.

Finally, in college, at the University of New Mexico, Shawn had had a revelation: he wasn’t gay, wouldn’t turn gay, and whatever anyone else thought of the situation was their own problem. From then on, it was easy to accept the modeling jobs that had been offered. He’d left school with two years to go when the offer of riches became too great to ignore.

He’d moved to New York four years ago and had met with success he could never have imagined. He’d been in countless magazines, on television, on billboards, including one so famous it had become something of a risqué icon. It was simply him in a pair of boxer shorts, and people from as far away as China recognized him instantly. Fame had its drawbacks, however, most of which centered around lack of privacy, but he’d said he figured there was always a price to pay for the kind of life he was living, and he’d grown accustomed to it.

He’d gone back to school against the advice of his agent and manager, but he didn’t lose any sleep over it. He had a plan, and it promised him a wonderful future.

Marla had told him of her college days, and how she never truly fit in with any crowd she’d found. She wasn’t as silly as the beer-drinking kegger lovers, and not so serious as the math geeks, but somewhere in between. She’d had a few good friends, but mostly she stuck to studying and listening to music. After she graduated, she’d researched the market carefully and had been offered four excellent jobs, but it was Jessica she wanted to work with. She’d never regretted the choice, although she didn’t see herself following Jessica’s strict “work-only” ethic. Marla still loved music, mostly classical and oldies, with some musicals, particularly those of Stephen Sondheim, to round out her tastes. That’s when Shawn had smiled that unbelievable smile at her. “I know him,” he’d said.