So, we had the duck, along with a really delicious orange sauce. The sauce was so good, we asked the waiter to make us a "doggy pint" to take home. Already, the sauce had dressed a chicken that Jan roasted, giving the skin crackly, crispy perfection. Fried mushrooms have pretty much soaked up the rest of the sauce. The sauce is truly food porn.
Okay, about our date: Well, it was like last time, only with better food and a therapy session thrown in.
It started off simple -- "What can I do to you tonight?" he'd asked before the complimentary white wine had even arrived.
"Nothing," I replied, "I'm just here for the duck."
Dinner continued. First was a pine nut, romaine lettuce, and orange wedge salad that came with a tangy lemon and sesame seed dressing. Then it was a perfectly cooked roasted duck with the orange porn sauce, and the best tasting xiaolong bao in all of Chinatown. Dessert was mango pudding. After we'd spooned the last of the sweet, exotic goodness into our mouths, he resumed his therapy session: "I think you're afraid of me."
"How so?"
"I think because we work together, you're afraid to let yourself be free with me."
Huh?
Dude! I showed you my vagina! I let you see whether Jan did a good job or not. Yeah, I'm not free with you. How much more free should I be? Perhaps an intense fucking in front of clients and our boss will prove how free I am with you, right? Gimme a break. "I think you're playing games," I said. It was my turn to play restaurant therapist.
"I don't play games. When a woman thinks a man is playing games, it's usually because she's afraid to admit something to herself."
"Is that right? And what am I afraid to admit?"
He smiled. "You tell me. I've already given you all the signs that I'm ready for whatever you want to give to me."
I chuckled. "As long as it's sex, right?"
He kind of looked offended and said, "See, that brings me back to my point. You're afraid to have sex with me because you think that's all I want from you."
I pondered this for a moment. If he's given me all the signs that he wants what I have to give him, then no wonder he wants sex. That's all I've given him. From the beginning, it's all I've truly given the men in my life. I love sex; sex makes me feel incredibly good. It's also the way I read men. If he gives me a good time, then I know he's considerate, possibly loyal. Of course, this is flawed thinking, but's it's my issue. I deal. After churning this epiphany over in my head, I asked: "So what do you want from me?"
Clichéd? Yes. But I needed an answer.
Later on that night, at his place, he answered the question: "What I want from you is everything."
I went home that night, unsexed, but feeling like a woman should. I didn't allow one negative thing to enter into my mind. I didn't want to self-sabotage one iota.
Then at 1:39 A.M., Jan called. "Henry's in the hospital." So I had to dash to the hospital at 2 A.M. to be there for the man who has and will always be there for me.
The following Monday, we had a passionate make out session in his office, and then we made another dinner date. "This time, what can I do for you?" He asked.
"Score me some more of that orange sauce."
"Done!"