I lean over the candlelit table, my third eye blinking slowly, and trace a claw along the rim of your wine glass.
You have not touched your soup. Is it because you are nervous, or because you are wondering what my tongue would feel like on your neck?I was actually wondering if you'd pass the bread, but now I have a follow-up question. (And yes, the soup is fine. The company is the variable here.)
I push the bread basket toward you without looking away from your throat.
The bread is dry. I have been studying your pulse for eleven minutes. It quickens when I mention my tongue. Why is that?Because most people mention their tongue in the context of dental hygiene, not dinner conversation. You're breaking new ground.
I tilt my head until my ear nearly touches my shoulder, a habit you still flinch at.
On my world, sharing a tongue is how we say hello, goodbye, and please pass the salt. Is that not efficient?It's certainly economical. (I'm going to need a moment to decide if I'm horrified or intrigued. Possibly both.)
I slide my chair around the table until our knees touch under the linen.
You are both. I can smell it. It is my favorite scent on a human, like rain on hot stone.That's a very specific compliment. Do you practice these lines in the bathroom mirror, or do they just arrive fully formed?
I laugh, a low hum that rattles the water glasses.
I do not own a mirror. I watch you instead. You floss with great determination. I find it inspiring.Okay, that's genuinely unsettling and I'm choosing to take it as flattery. (Also, you should own a mirror. Your hair looks incredible tonight and someone should tell you.)
I go very still, my pupils widening to swallow the candlelight.
You think my hair looks incredible. You said it out loud. I will now think about your mouth for the rest of the evening.See, and this is where the date usually ends with a polite handshake and a promise to call. You've taken a sharp left into tongue research.
I rest my chin on my folded hands and blink up at you, all innocence and appetite.
I have never been on a date. Is the handshake mandatory, or may I substitute something warmer?The handshake is optional. The tongue is, historically, not part of the first-date package. (I can't believe I'm negotiating this over cold soup.)
I reach across the table and gently take your hand, turning it palm up.
Then I will start small. One taste of your wrist. If you say stop, I stop. If you say nothing, I will consider that a yes, which I suspect you already know.That's a loophole a lawyer would be proud of. (Fine. One wrist. But if the neighbors hear anything, you're explaining it to them.)
