By Aouda Fogg
Warnings: ummmm.... well, there's a touch of juvenile humor *wg* and it's not betaed
Final notes? lunch being present is for Debra . . . the establishments Blair notes seeing are for Aly *wg*
I feel like I'm thirteen again, except now I actually know what it's all about, so I'm even more amused at myself. I also can't stop grinning. But I swear it's not my fault. Ok, I mean, yes, I did make the sculpture on the kitchen counter with two kiwis and a banana from the fruit bowl, so, yeah, that was deliberate. But is it my fault the new signs welcoming people to Cascade have been erected in the shape of the largest phallic symbols west of the Washington Monument? I think not!
And I'm not the one driving today, so I had zero to do with the fact that we've passed two Jiffy-Lubes, an EZ-Lube, and a Lube-And-Go. See? Not my fault. And seriously, a suspect named Harold "Call me Harry" Hardman? I couldn't make this stuff up. It just isn't my fault that everything in the world is one huge innuendo.
Of course, the fact that everything is making me want to laugh like Beevis and Butthead may have something to do with the fact that my body feels super-charged, like I'm the one with the heightened senses. The whole world is glowing. Or maybe it's me. Because I've got a secret. Now I seem to have regressed to an emotional age of seven; I have a sudden urge to skip around chanting "I've got a secret! I've got a secret!"
But I don't. I manage to sit still -- not only because the entire restaurant does not need to know I have a secret, but because Jim is already throwing me looks of mingled exasperation and amusement, and I don't want to tip the balance too much into exasperation. After all, I want him in the same state of giddy, delighted awareness I'm immersed in; he shares this secret with me.
He and I are the only ones in the whole wide world who know what we did this weekend. That we finally, after a very long time, at long last, after an age and an age, figured out that feelings we each thought were one-sided not only weren't, but were enthusiastically returned. That had happened late Friday night. Saturday and Sunday there'd been a lot of nakedness around the loft. Nakedness punctuated with a lot of touches, sighs, experimentation, moans, and once or twice, screams. The screams had been me. Jim's the moaner.
See?! This is such a great secret there's secrets within the secret! I can't help it; the thought makes my grin even wider. Jim smiles back at me, rolling his eyes a bit, as the waitress slides our lunches in front of us. As soon as she walks away, I lean toward him across the table. I can't go a moment longer without saying something. "I can't wait to get you home tonight so I can hear you moaning against me."
Jim's ears turn the most incredible shake of pink, but he leans back. "And I can't wait to make you scream."
Oh, yeah. I've got a secret.
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