Dinner with Daphne

Mark was walking down Regent Street, his laptop bag swinging back to hit him just below the ass with every step. It was a beat-up black leather messenger-type bag; he had loosened the shoulder strap too much. He knew it was a simple matter to tighten it up a bit and then his walk home would be more comfortable, but he didn't want to stop. His legs were a bit sore from his walk up the hill that morning, and it was an unusually warm day for late October in Fredericton.

His head was itchy again, but scratching it was difficult with his brown drivers cap on; it didn't help that he was due for a haircut yet again. Some days Mark missed his hair being down past his chin, but all it took was thinking about the time it had taken to maintain it to cut it short again. His beard had gotten long enough to actually look like a beard. This wasn't unusual for him in October; not trimming his beard for that month was something of a decade old tradition for him now.

Mark was wearing a black zip-up hoodie over a black t-shirt from the Hard Rock Cafe in Toronto featuring oriental dragons playing electric guitars. Unfortunately, unzipping his hoodie hadn't offered him much escape from the heat as it was pinned down by the shoulder strap across his chest.

It took less time to reach the bottom of the hill than Mark had expected; he had never walked down it before. Still, he was wishing he had asked someone for a ride. Going from no exercise to walking two hours a day was not going well for him.

“Want a ride?”

Mark caught the question, though he could barely hear it. He had been lost in thought and oblivious to anything but the process of making it home; how he knew he was being addressed was beyond him. But he looked over his shoulder, and there was Daphne, looking at him expectantly.

She was standing next to her idling car, driver’s door open and the right foot still inside, looking over her shoulder with both hands on the door. As always, his eyes went first to hers; they were big and brown, set in her cute face framed by wavy locks of hair that were not long enough to make it into the short pony tail she kept. But his eyes flicked down to her feet and came up her legs. He was a leg man, after all. She obviously had meat on her bones, but her jeans were just tight enough to complement that fact. It was healthy weight. Even through the dark blue pull-over hoodie she wore, he could see that her torso was a supple firmness.

“Sure,” he called back, realizing he may have taken too long to reply. She was smiling knowingly, so he assumed he was in the clear. He turned and walked around to the passenger side, pausing for a moment while he awkwardly extracted himself from his bag and folded his six-foot-two frame into the front seat of her car, over-loaded bag jammed between his knees.

“I thought you were going to ask someone for a ride today?”

“I was, but we got out early, and it's nice....”

“It is nice out, isn't it? Strange.”

They sat in silence for a moment as she navigated streets he had had no idea even existed. There were far worse people to get a drive with than a Fredericton native, no matter how bad the drivers in the city were. Daphne wasn't one of the bad ones though.

“I'm glad she let us out early. I don't think I did anything productive in that last half hour or so.”

“I know I didn't; I was talking to John about Wreck-It-Ralph on Facebook.”

“Right, when is that coming out again? I forget.”

“Next Friday. The plan is to get everyone to go in one group, but they still haven't posted when it will be playing so we don't know what day.” That made Mark feel better. He had had a moment of panic when she said she had been talking to John on Facebook. He knew she was single, but he had known John for two years already. The guy joked with everyone the same way, no matter age, sex, or position. He didn't want her to get her hopes up if she had thought he was flirting with her; Mark hadn't known John to demonstrate any interest in a girl before.

The conversation had died again. Then, out of nowhere, “ew.” He looked where she gestured.

“Greyhounds?”

“Yes! They always look sick. I know they're not, but still!”

“You'd say the same thing about Cara if she didn't wear baggy clothes.”

“True,” they passed the dogs and were at the next stop sign when she went on. “I called her Sara today. Not to her face, thank god.”

“I called Natasha Sasha the other day.”

“Oh.”

“To her face.”

“Ooh. Ouch. Well, at least you didn't call her Natalie.”

“Natalie?”

“Yeah. One of our instructors called her Natalie. To her face, every time. She'd say 'it's Natasha ' and he'd just keep calling her Natalie. Her entire time in Truro.”

“Fun.”

“I have a sudden urge to go to Geek Sheik,” Daphne said. Mark knew of the store, but he hadn't been in yet. He said as much. “I should turn around,” she said, but she didn't. The conversation turned to what the store sold, the fact that it had another location in Truro, and Strange Adventures also came up.

On the other side of the Westmorland Street Bridge, the conversation turned to all the changes that had happened since Daphne had last been to that area of town. Mark had only lived in the area for two months, so it was somewhat interesting.

Then he realized where they were.

“Shouldn't you turn here?”

“That's not where we're going.

“We're not?”

“Nope.” Daphne didn't offer any sort of explanation. Mark wasn't worried, she was being genuinely nice and friendly; he had a good instinct for such things. But it was getting close to supper, and he didn't want to disrupt her Friday night. Then again, he hadn't asked her to do whatever it was she was doing.

They left the city behind and she pulled up in front of a run-down mom & pop shop fish & chips place.

“You have to try the food here.”

“Really? You abduct a Newfoundlander and take him to a fish & chips place nowhere near the ocean? Actually, it doesn't matter. I'm allergic to seafood. But those fries smell amazing.”

She laughed. Then she got out of the car. He opened his door but waited for her to stand up before he turned and got out. He just couldn't resist another glimpse of her ass.

They ordered their food to go, she paid. Back in the car to drive to some even more remote location; they weren't even on a paved road anymore. She pulled to a stop atop a hill where they could see the sun setting.

“Eat up!”

“These fries are pretty good. I can't think of any I'd say were better. No, that's not true. Nothing beats Nan's.” He found himself watching her eat. It was a little weird, but not the weirdest thing he'd ever found himself doing.

She finished several minutes after him, wiped her mouth with a napkin, and deposited her dishes in the paper bag she then dropped in the back seat. “Now,” she said, a businesslike expression on her face. “It's time to talk about payment for my driving you home.”

“Wh-what?”

“It's simple. I've done you a favour, now you do one for me.” She unbuckled her seat belt and turned more toward him, right arm up so her hand was on the back of his seat. She reached with her left hand to grab his right, pulling it over to push it into her lap. He looked down to see she had his fingers on the inside of her thigh and had dragged them up to almost touch her groin. She had let go of his hand, but he was frozen there, heart thudding in his ears. He could only think of his Sasha. But still, it hadn't progressed beyond what she was okay with. Yet.

Mark knew that Daphne was undoing his seat belt. He felt her put her hand on his right shoulder and turn him towards her. He still hadn't moved when she put her face right in front of his and said “let's see how good you are with those hands,” quietly but seductively. When she leaned in the last inch to kiss him, he lost control; thoughts of Sasha were drowned out by the present situation.

His hand left her thigh; it wasn't where it needed to be right now. Instead he grabbed her hip and maintaining his firm grip rubbed his hand up her back, dragging her sweater with it. She took the hint and pulled back to free herself from it; he took the moment's reprieve to free himself of the seat belt that was still restraining his arm. Then his left hand was behind her back, pulling her toward him. The steering wheel was in the way; so was the shifter.

He had never looked at her breasts; she was always wearing a sweater or t-shirt. But now he found himself gripping one, and it felt great. She pushed his hand down again, he smiled.

Jeans weren't hard to unfasten.

She flexed and her butt lifted off the seat just enough to pull the jeans down out of the way. Her panties were sopping already. Still, he gave a teasing rub and she gave something between a moan and a growl. His hand went in her panties; she didn't shave there. He gave her a wicked grin and slid his middle finger inside her.

Her mouth opened in a perfect 'o'. He made eye contact, slid his index finger in too. This time there was a moan. A slow methodical in-and-out rub, searching for that spot he hoped was there. He could hear her breathing, she may not be giving voice to it, but she was definitely enjoying what he was doing. Then he found it. It wasn't as big as he had expected, but there was a firmer spot, smaller than the tip of his middle finger. It was quite a ways in there.

Small circles, increasing speed. A little more pressure, her back arched. Squeeze down with his thumb, rubbing as well, and finally, there it came. A great “ah yeah.” He pulled his fingers out, put his index finger in his mouth, and tasted it. He smiled and offered his hand to her.

She obliged, sucking on his middle finger for a minute. They sat, looking into one another’s eyes, then she turned forward.

“Thank you.” Her tone was businesslike again. She pulled up her jeans, but didn't bother fastening them. The car started, he followed her lead pulling on his seat belt. They didn't speak the whole way back to his apartment. He was slightly confused; worried that he had been able to do such a thing.

“Do you want to come in ...” he asked when she arrived at his driveway.

“No. But you might ask Natasha that some time.”

“Oh.”

“See you Monday, Mark.”

“See you Monday,” he said, shutting the door. He was inside before what she said about Natasha registered. Now there was a temptation he didn't need. He pulled out his cell phone and started to text Sasha to ask how her day had been. He wished she were there. He always wished she was there.