Tempted (6 page)

Well color me orange!
 
He nibbles and sucks my ear and neck, whispering sweet nothings
–
scratch that
–
breathing salacious threats of sexual carnage.

Next comes yellow.
 
It’s about power and control and the freedom to be oneself.
 

As if I have any control right now.

It’s about mental functioning.

Ha!
 
My mental functioning is non-existent right now and has been totally usurped by body functioning.
 

In western culture
,
yellow is also the color of chicke
ning out!
 

Crikey!

His mouth returns to mine, keeping me too busy and focused to notice his hand cupping my breast while his other finds the hem of my dress and begins searching its way up the back of my thigh.

God what comes next?
 
I picked a fine time to forget my colors!

Red, orange, yellow
...

His breath on my neck is making me
...

Green!
 
Of course, green. Green is the heart chakra.
 
It’s love, balance, compassion ascending the scale of being.

Going up even higher
, his hands begin to
...

No no no!
 
Not his hands!
 
The chakras!
 

Going up into the blue chakra located in the throat
...

T
he throat his tongue is currently mining
...

The blue chakra is speech, self-expression.
 

Ha!
 
Clearly he has no problems expressing himself!
 
As for speech, that went out the window when we lost the car.
 
Still kneading my breast, his opposing hand mirrors these efforts by squeezing my bum, and his fingers begin a subtle ploy to get my thighs to part ways
...
He succeeds.
I gasp.

OK, six, six, I can do this, six!
 
The
sixth chakra is
...
is
...
a
ck, red!
Orange!
Yellow!
Green!
Blue!
Purple?
 
Wait
...
no
...
not purple.
 
Help!
 
Where’s a kindergartner when you need one?
 
They know this stuff.
 
I nee
d to find a kindergarten kid now
!
 
Then again
,
this is probably not exactly suitable ente
rtainment for a little one.
 
A k
indergarten teacher, yes!
 
They’d know what color comes next and not be scarred for life by the scene before them.
 

Dear, Lord.
 
His hands feel incredible on me
–
manicured, white-collar hands to be sure
–
smooth, but not so soft as to be effeminate.
 
His fingers toy with the opening of my womanhood, pausing slightly, and in they go.
 
Indigo!
 
That’s it!
 
Indigo!

Indigo is the famous third eye
...
but the 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6th chakra.
 
How confusing is that?
 

I moan as his fingers take up a quicker pace, darting in and out of me with greater urgency as his pouty lips pull my earlobe and he sighs in my ear.
 

Good grief!
 
Where was I?
 
Indigo
–
6th chakra, 3rd eye, the forehead, site of imagination, psychic abilities and clairvoyance.
 
Claire-voyance?
Ha!
 
I highly doubt that my Indigo 3rd eye 6th chakra is doing much clairvoying now.
 
I’m putting my money on those bottom chakras.

The hand that had been getting familiar with my breast has now grasped my own seeking hand and unabashedly placed it on his swelling crotch, sliding my palm up and down the hard, blunt object straining at his fly.

At last, number seven, the violet chakra.
Interesting because violet is the color of royalty and this is the
sovereign or crown chakra.
 
It is the seat
of spiritual connection, understanding, knowing, oneness, bliss.

Umm
...
you sure the oneness and bliss aren’t located down below with that deadly Agent Orange chakra of sexual energy and creativity?

Ooh, that was new.
 
I think he’s found the spot, that little patch of pleasure inside that’s kind of like an elevator button you push to skyrocket straight up to the penthouse
...
up up up
...
yes!
 
*&^%$!!!

In the throes of a deep and lurid kiss, Bret turns me around and pushes me forward against the truck.
 
My hands involuntarily brace against the cold metal wall, mostly to keep my dress from getting filthy from the grimy truck body.
 
He deftly wraps an arm around me at the hips and pulls them back toward him, my bum now acting as a homing device for his desire.
 
My kundalini meows in appreciation
,
even as my upper chakras look at one another, drop-jawed.

His free hand flips my skirt up and yanks my
panties
aside.
 
Without warning
,
the warm
,
smooth head of his cock slides inside me and I gasp in surprise and confusion.
 
Suddenly my chakras are in chaos.
 
My orange chakra is doing a happy dance, while yellow wants to step back and consider the situation.
 
Unperturbed, indigo is chanting peacefully, eyes closed
–
ohmmmmmm
–
and green is off in the corner, squatting and weeping!
 
Blue stands up and announces, “Not here.
 
Not like this.
 
Not yet.”
 
Indigo raises her eyes and nods
,
and before Bret can go for thrust number two, I pull myself away and it’s all over.

I re-arrange myself and lamely explain that I’d like to get to know him better, that it’s too soon, that he can’t do that without protection
...
Bingo!
 
That’s it!

“Bret, that is not cool to do without using something, especially when we don’t really know each other yet.
 
And I’m not on birth control.
 
Besides, how do you know I don’t have some sort of STD?”

“Because I know.
 
I can just tell.
 
You don’t sleep with men.”

“Excuse me?
 
You think I’m a lesbian?
 
Just because I wouldn’t let you do me behind the hockey arena doesn’t mean
...
”

“Hahahahahhaha no!
 
I didn’t mean that!
 
I mean it’s obvious you don’t have sex

much
...
if at all.”

“
Excuse me?”
 
I have no idea what color the chakra for anger is, but I am positive she’s wide awake and ready to pounce.

“Hahahahahahahahaha!”
 
He is doubled over laughing himself into hysterics.
 
When he catches his breath he explains, “You’ve got all of this wrong.
 
I’m just saying that it’s pretty obvious you are highly selective about who you have sex with.
 
It’s a compliment
...
and a turn-on.”

“Oh…”
 
Miss Indigo ‘ahems’ in my head.
 
“Thank you
...
I
...
”

“I can also tell that you are gonna be a little tigress in bed.
 
You’re a challenge.
 
I like that.”

My orange and yellow chakras are doing a tango together until I catch up to speed on what he just said.
 
“Gonna be?
 
Mighty sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Cocksure!”
 

I freeze on the spot, not knowing how to respond, and the internet connection linking me to Team Chakra has just gone down.

“C’mon,” he reassures, grabbing me by the hand, kissing it sweetly and pulling me back to the parking lot, his eyes laughing.

Without the ether of potential sex clouding our thought, we are quickly able to find his Escalade, which is now sitting stately in marked solitude in the empty lot.

The drive back to Starbucks is light and pleasant.
 
When we arrive, he starts to get out of the car
,
but I dissuade him, giving him one last kiss, both playful and sincere to show there are no hard feelings after the momentary defilement by the truck.

“See you soon, Claire. Very soon,” he says with a wry smile.

“Ciao for now,” I return, inwardly shuddering that I have just ended a date with the same phrase I use to sign off of my talk show.

“
Ciao, bella
,” he adds, driving off while holding my gaze in his twinkly, mischievous eyes.

My breath catches as I wonder which chakra covers heartbreak from the past.
 
“Ciao, bella”
is what David always says to me.
 
But David’s
not here and Bret is.  And
unlike David, Bret does not have a girlfriend he’s living with in Italy.

* * *

The next couple of weeks, Bret and I are disgustingly adorable, with both of us giggling and tittering and falling under one another’s spell.
 
Ever since the hockey game, lunch has been the only time we can get together, so I meet him in the city the next couple of Mondays and Thursdays, for an all too brief flirt
fest and salad, extra flirting on the side.
 
At one point
,
I actually do ask him if he has a girlfriend.
 
When he replies ‘yes,’ my heart sinks.
 
I hear that sound a turntable needle makes when it comes to an abrupt stop on an LP, and my green and Indigo Girl chakras speak at the same time, “I knew something was off / Oh no, not again.”
 
Before I can bark out a retort, Bret amends his answer.
 
“I have the best
girlfriend a man could ask for…
you!”

Things calm down at the chakra shack and after an hour that feels like six minutes, Bret glances at his phone and says, “Oh shit!
 
I’m late for an appointment.”
 
He kisses me and bolts from the bistro, leaving me with the lunch bill
...
and his hefty bar tab.
 

We text profusely over the next few days, trying to find a time to meet that’s good for both of us, a time when neither of us will be rushed, at night
...
alone.
 
Bret cajoles me to engage in Facetime with him since we both have new iPhones, but being cameraphobic to the extreme, I panic so completely that he drops the subject, or, rather, keeps it simmering on a back burner.
 

* * *

April is all grins at the change in me, claiming I am “in luvvvvvvvv” and going on and on about how happy she is for me and how this is just what I deserve and how there really are good guys out there.

My mom entertains a variety of opinions:
disdaining Bret’s existence, thinking he is too good for me, wondering what is wrong with him if he is interested in me and that the only explanation could be that he’s married, and commenting that I’m lucky to have found a man who likes ‘chubby girls.’

But even Mom can’t kill my Bret buzz.
 
He is articulate, funny, has an uber-sexy voice, and is as smooth as whatever kind of alcohol people talk about as going down smooth.
 
I don’t really drink, so I have no point of reference, but I very much like the idea.
 
He and I email, text, phone every minute we get the chance, and generally coo sickeningly sweetly.
 
He is overjoyed when I inform him I’ve purchased Bulls ice hockey tickets for the following season
–
the current season being nearly over
–
and we make a date to go to another game to scope out the future seats.