Chapter 11: Hand (1/5)

“What is this soft, smooth, and cool feeling my skin is touching? It’s so thin, and airy, and cool,” Elle thought to herself, awake with her eyes closed.  She was rubbing her hands, arms, and legs around, like she was making a snow angel, to feel the unfamiliar fabric against her skin.  Then she held a handful of the fabric and gently rubbed it against her face and smiled.  She opened her eyes and realized that she was on a bed with silk sheets and blanket.  She did not see anyone lying next to her.  Then she turned the other way and saw that JZ was in a chair watching her.  Her cheeks grew red.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked quietly, tired from staying up all night.

She nodded and smiled a small smile.

“I’ll make you breakfast,” he said softly with a smile, then stood up and went toward the kitchen.

“Ok,” she whispered, looking at him with her big, brown, soft, vulnerable eyes.

He looked back and remembered how he could not stop staring at those eyes.  “Hurry up,” he quietly said.

She hopped out of bed, stepped on the cool hardwood floors, then crossed the boundary to the cold tiles of the bathroom.  She poked the ajar door and said to herself, “It’s so clean!”  She used the toilet and stood up to flush but, “It flushes itself!” she exclaimed to herself.  She went to the sink to wash her hands and, “Motion-sensor faucet, too!”

She went to the walk-in shower, “A touchpad? Ooo, the power button…or not so button,” she said to herself.  She pressed it and the other options lit up.  “Yay, pictures! I hope they’re not deceiving,” she said to herself.  She pressed the option where water would come out of the shower head.  “Aiya!” she said whispered loudly.  “You’re really smart to be in the shower with your clothes still on,” she said to herself, and got out of the shower.  She left her hand in the shower to feel if the temperature of the water would change.  “Where’s the option for the temperature?” She could not find it.  “You know what, I’m going to take a cold shower.  I do it all the time at home.  Although it would be nice to shower in warm water, I don’t want to risk pressing the option that looks like steam and scald my skin.  He’s probably waiting for me.  Cold shower it is.”

After she finished, she got the only bath towel and dried herself, then wrapped the wet towel around her.  “Oh yeah,” she sighed, “I don’t have any clothes at his place.”  “Raid his closet for something that fits.”  She opened the door ajar and peeked out.  “How far would I have to tip toe?” “Tip toe? Strut out there like you’re teasing him.”  “I might fall if I strut.  Then again, I might fall if I tip toe, too.  Why don’t I just walk normally?” “Go on.  He’s probably waiting for you.”

She walked to his closet, stole a glance, and saw that his back was facing her.  When he turned around, he saw a trail of warm footprints and water drops on the floor going around his bed and to his closet.  He left the stove and quickly followed the trail.

“Why do you still have this?” she asked softly, looking at him with her big, soft, brown, vulnerable eyes, holding the red dress he offered her.

“Because you wouldn’t take it when I gave it to you,” he gently replied.  “Why don’t you wear it for breakfast…or do you prefer to wear that towel to breakfast?” he said, trying to be romantic and distract her from whatever distress she may be feeling from their first date.

With an angry face and a slightly angry tone, she said, “I’ll wear whatever I want.  Go, go,” as she shooed him back to the kitchen.  She took some clothes and returned to the bathroom.  “Why did he really keep that dress?” she asked herself.  “He was so quick to change the subject he must be lying or not telling the whole truth.”  “Why won’t you consider that he feels responsible for ruining your dress? Besides, you don’t know him very well, so look for goodness in him like you do for others.”

She went to the kitchen and smelt the familiar smell of slightly burnt food.  “What are you making?” she asked.

“Why are you wearing my dress shirt and basketball shorts?” he asked, his eyes intrigued at an outfit that does not go together.

“Are you making pancakes?” She looked at him still looking at her.  “You’re not making it right.  Let me do it,” and took the mixing bowl and chopsticks from him.  She whipped smoothly whatever batter was left and poured it into the skillet, one circle at a time.  She took the spatula from his unmoving hand and flipped the pancakes.  He stepped behind her and slid his hands on her waist then toward her stomach.  He unbuttoned one button, then another, then she grabbed his hands and put them on the skillet and spatula handles.  She quickly buttoned up those buttons, and put her hands over his large hands but also holding on to the handles so she could properly flip the pancakes.

After the six pancakes were done, she turned around and asked, “Can you get two cups for me?”  As he grabbed two glasses, she searched for forks and knives but only found chopsticks and spoons.  She took two pairs out and set them on the dining table.  “What do you want to drink?” she asked.  “You choose,” he replied.  She opened the fridge and took out the soymilk jug, turned back and saw that he was looking at her behind.  “You’re so naughty,” she said with a smile.  He smiled and said, “I like being naughty.”  She poured the soymilk then put it back in the fridge.  Then she returned to the dining table and stabbed the stack of pancakes with the spatula into quarters, and poured the maple syrup like she was pouring tea.

He pulled out her chair for her and she sat, then he sat facing her.  She picked up her glass of soymilk and said, “Cheers,” and smiled.  He did the same.  She drank it, looking at the disappearing liquid; he drank it while watching her drink hers.  She then picked up her chopsticks and folded the top quarter pancake piece in half, brought it to her lips and blew on it.  Then the piece floated near his mouth, he opened his mouth, and it disappeared behind his lips.  “Is it good?” she asked.  He chewed and nodded his head.  He fed her a piece.  “There isn’t enough maple syrup to make this good,” she said to herself and laughed.  He smiled when she laughed.  They fed each other the bland pieces until the plate was empty.

They drank the last of the soymilk, and she was getting ready to bring everything to the sink to wash, when he took her hand, she looked at him, he pointed on himself that she had a milk mustache.  She licked above her upper lip then asked, “Still there?” He nodded and leaned toward her and kissed her lips.  He kissed her slowly and passionately.  Still kissing her, he walked toward her and held her hands up, and she stood.  He placed his hands on her hips and slid one hand on her lower back, and the other behind her chest, bringing her body to his.  The hand that was on her lower back slid over her butt cheek.  He smiled while she jolted.  She held his hand, stopped kissing him and pushed him back, then whispered, “You are so naughty for finding my secrets.”  He smiled a bigger smile.

She freed herself and took everything to the sink and was about to wash them like she normally did at her place.  He held her arms and asked her, “What are you doing?”

“Cleaning,” she replied.

“But you’re my guest,” he argued.

“You’re right.  I’ll watch you clean,” she said smiling and pulled out a chair to watch him.  When he was done, she placed the spatula and skillet in the sink.  He looked at her and saw her big, brown, soft, vulnerable, and playful eyes.  When he was done, she brought the mixing bowl.  When he was done with that, she showed him her hands covered in batter.  He looked at her and smiled.  “Come,” he said.  She took his place and he stood closely behind her.  He gently scrubbed her hands, and pretended that it was difficult for him to reach her hands under the water while standing behind her.

Waiting for a paper towel to appear in front of her, it did not come.  She looked to her left, then her right, and did not see a paper towel roll or anything she can dry her hands with.  She turned around and asked, “Do you have napkins?”  With one hand behind his back, he shook his head while looking romantically and playfully at her.  She wanted to wipe on her shirt but that was not her shirt.  Then she thought about wiping on his shirt, but that seemed rude.  So she decided to dry her hands on the apron tied around his hips, and accidentally grazed his penis.  “I’m sorry,” she said, her cheeks red and eyes darting away.  He smiled and showed her what was behind his back.  “Why are you so naughty?” she asked and smiled, seeing the roll of paper towels.  “Because I like being naughty,” he whispered.  She giggled.

He was leaning in to kiss when there was a knock on the door.  He looked at her and put his index finger to his lips.  She nodded.  He quietly walked to the door, looked through the peephole, and opened the door slightly.

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