Ffancy
Well-Known Member
At Last
by Ffancy
by Ffancy
I walk into the pizza place precisely at noon but he’s already there. I can see the back of his head at a table on the far side of the room. He is looking at his phone. I wonder if he’s wondering if I’m going to be late? A bright blue mask covers his mouth. So cautious. The pandemic has eased off enough that we’re finally able to meet in person after months of video chats. My heart is doing flips.
I walk over and greet him. I take off my mask once I reach the table and stuff it into the pocket of my winter coat. Then I hang my coat on the back of the empty chair. I am wearing a rust-brown sweater dress that clings to my curves, leggings and knee-high boots with a chunky heel. I can’t help myself. I lean towards him, still standing, and unhook the elastic from his ear. I pull the mask away to reveal his full lips, slightly parted. He is staring at me, dark pupils wide in his light green eyes.
“I would quite like to break social distancing rules,” I say, breathily. He seems frozen, his chubby face tilted up towards me. I can see how round his cheeks are, like two apples, and how his jaw line is lost under a plump layer of pudge.
“That...is a good idea,” he breathes back. I lean down and kiss him, gently at first and then insistently, passionately. My hand slides from his neck to the back of his head, lightly cradling the fat roll there. I’ve been waiting six months for this kiss and it’s everything I dreamed of. He moans into my mouth. I can feel his hands on my waist.
“Get a room!” Someone hoots. I pull away.
“We will!” I shoot back, but I sit down. His eyes are practically glowing green.
“I take it that’s how you greet all your research partners?”
We met in late 2019 when the company I work for teamed up with company he works for to plan a joint conference, currently postponed to 2022. But the planning team still met virtually and he and I had ended up being the research go-getters. Our relationship flowed from weekly work calls to the occasional humorous e-mail to late night strategy sessions over takeout (Thai for me, Chinese or pizza for him) to frequent texting to non-work related calls where we discussed our lives, plans, fears and dreams. But we never called them dates, just meetings.
“You know damn well it isn’t,” I growl. He laughs and grabs my hand. His hands are soft, the plump hands of a desk worker. I scrape my guitar calluses against his fingers.
“I can’t decide what to get,” he admits. “The doner kebab and the poutine are both really good here. I don’t know which I want.”
There’s a slight whiny tone to his voice that just sends me wild. I have to clamp my thighs together to keep from thrusting.
“Let’s order both, and we’ll go splitsies,” I say. I hop up and order the super doner kebab and a large poutine at the counter, plus a Coke for him and a San Pellegrino for me. His eyes widen when the food arrives. The super doner is longer and thicker than my forearm, though not longer and thicker than his forearm. We eat. Conversation is scant- we’re too busy gazing at each other and stealing surreptitious touches. We’re both grinning like idiots. Everything makes us laugh: the stringiness of the cheese curds, the chopped tomatoes splooshing onto his nice dress shirt, the way the bells jingle as people enter and leave the shop. Is this how percocet users feel? I want to run around hollering and whooping with joy, and I want to curl up and spoon with him forever. Love is a hell of a drug.
I have a few bites of the doner and about a third of the poutine. He’s right, they’re both really good. He polishes off the rest. The buttons on his shirt are taut over the dome of his belly. He burps and then excuses himself. We giggle.
“Oof, ate too much,” he says, pressing a hand into the top of his distended gut. I shake my head.
“Ate just the right amount,” I say, contradicting him. “Come on, let’s go for a little walk around town. The fresh air will perk you up.”
He grew up in this town and I didn’t, so he reminisces about his childhood as we stroll in the crisp winter air. The sun is shining. Of course the sun is shining. I’m so happy that it seems as if the sun must necessarily be shining. We are holding hands.
Eventually we reach a quiet residential neighborhood. He stops in front of a small apartment building.
“Uh, this is mine. Would you like to come in?” His voice cracks like a nervous teenager.
“Yes, I would,” and I step close and kiss him again, on the public street, as if we were teenagers. It is a long, thorough kiss, promising more to come.
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