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”He rolled off of me and wrapped me in his arms. I loved being held. I loved the warmth and smell of him.After a few moments of lying there, wallowing in the warmth, my mind started racing again with the thought that my car would soon be arriving.“Peter,” I said, hesitating, and turned on my side to face him.“What?” he asked.“What would you think if I said I wanted to stay here with you?” I asked, frightened to hear his answer. He was silent.My heart thumped as I waited for an answer. He looked into my eyes.“Vicki, you’re so young and I am old enough to be your father. I’m not sure it would work - you know, the age difference. That’s a big issue.”“It’s only an issue if you think it is,” I said. “It’s not an issue for me.”“Well, it is for me,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your life. I don’t want to become some old fuddy-duddy that can’t keep up with you.” He paused. “And I had a vasectomy years ago and you might want to have a baby. That’s an issue you should think. That night we were going out with a co-worker of Tom's and celebrate. The corporation gave him one week off and would pick up the bill at the hotel for the entire time.We followed the directions to a fine restaurant we were given by Tom's co-worker. At the restaurant Tom introduced me to his New York counterpart and co-worker Albert. Albert wasn't exactly what I had expected. Although he was younger at age 34, he was built more like an athlete. Tall with wide shoulders. The biggest surprise was that Albert was a black man. We all ate supper together and Albert turned out to be a lot of fun. His speech was eloquent. I guess it sounds silly but I half expected him to talk filthy ghetto stuff. By the time supper was over, we were all a little tipsy and hitting it off like long lost friends. Albert suggested we go to a night club he knew about that featured dancing. We took a cab to a place called the Disco Kitty. It was really nice inside and yes their was dancing, by nude girls. At.
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Java Jazz was our little hide away. They played amazing jazz and had open mic nights and in this cozy little enclave that had sinful pastries and free wireless access. We settled in on one of the sofas and got the paper. I was oblivious, reading letters to the editor when Jesse reached over, put his hand on my exposed thigh, and whispered, “Spread your legs for me.” In an instant, I was aroused again, but this time, I was looking around to see who could see us. There were a few college students deep in their books and another couple sitting at a table not far away, engrossed in each other. I tried to push his hand away but there was no use. “Baby, come on, enough is enough, this was fun and all but the game is over, we don’t have to keep this up.” I was nervous and tingling with anticipation at the same time. He looked me deep in my eyes and said, “spread your legs for me,” and I’ll be damned if my legs didn’t respond to his command automatically. Paranoid we were going to.

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