Roseann Discovers Dominance Pt 04

It's always been one of the eternal mysteries of Chicago that the Cubs, in spite of decades of uneven performance, always retain vast numbers of faithful fans. Wrigley Field is invariably packed to the last seat for home games, and Chicagoans snort with derision at any thought of building a new, more modern stadium. But 1969 was the year the papers called the Cubs 'the most celebrated second-place team in the history of baseball,' and the struggle for seats was fiercer than ever. But Craig had his friend's season tickets, and we watched Fergie Jenkins strike out a string of batters, albeit to a futile conclusion.

At each exciting moment, I turned to face Craig as we laughed or cheered. By the fourth inning, my shoulder was pressed against his; by the seventh, I gripped his bare forearm as we watched. It was so good to touch and smell a man this close, even with the competing smell of beer, popcorn and hot dogs, and distraction of the screaming and moving people. The fantasy of clasping myself against his body dominated my brain after that. The ninth inning, I suppose, may have been thrilling, if I'd paid attention.

At the end, along with thirty-six thousand other fans, we shuffled toward an exit, Craig leading. I held onto his hand so we wouldn't become separated. His flesh was warm and his palm soft, and I didn't let go when we were finally free of the crowds and strolling in silence down Addison Street, away from the park and most of the crowds. We drew a few curious glances. Although it would have been obvious that he was a decade older than me, I was about six inches taller, even in my sneakers.

I finally broke the quiet. "Thank you so much for that. It's been so long since I've been to a Cubs game."

He smiled quietly. "You'll have to believe me when I say that this has been the most exciting day of my life." He couldn't quite meet my eyes as he spoke.

"But you were married before. I can see the ring mark on your finger."

He looked directly into my eyes at last. "I repeat, this has been the most exciting day of my life." The sun had reddened his face so that his freckles stood out like a paint spray.

I shivered in spite of the heat. "It feels good to be out with a man after so many months. But we still have to eat, don't we?"

"Where do you want to go?"

"You must have someplace in mind."

"I have a lot of places in mind. But what do you like."

I shrugged. "I'm no connoisseur. Food is food. Anyplace but Bernie's. I just know I'd get razzed by the other girls if I show up with a date. Picture eating the whole meal with people peering around doorways and in the mirrors to watch us."

Now I saw that something was trying to burst out of him, and his face, already reddened by the sun, grew redder. "Ihavefoodatmyplace," he said, all in one word.

My belly muscles grew tight, and adrenaline shot into my blood and made me dizzy. "Um...I..." I swallowed. "I'd like that," I said. My voice squeaked.

He flagged down a cab that was speeding toward Wrigley Field to find another fare. The driver did a quick U-turn, and a few minutes later, we were walking through the lobby of an aging apartment building a block from Lakeshore Drive. Neither of us spoke while the elevator took us to the fifteenth floor. I wondered nervously whether my return trip on this elevator would be later tonight, or tomorrow morning, and whether my pussy would be wet with his sperm when I did.

He opened the door on a compact and uncluttered apartment, which was strangely laid out with a bathroom next to the kitchen and across the living room from a closed door that might lead to a bedroom. The impractical arrangement seemed to be the result of installing a dividing wall in a larger apartment to make two smaller units.

The place was far too neat for a single male. The air smelled of Pledge. He'd likely spent hours cleaning, possibly in the hope I might come back here with him. On the wall opposite the entry door was a picture window. I walked over and saw Belmont Harbor through a narrow gap between neighboring buildings. White boats floated at their moorings on the crystal blue water. As small and elderly as it was, this apartment was much better than the one I shared with Candy. I found myself wondering what it would be like to live here.

Stop that, RoseAnn! This is a first date!

"Sorry about the view. A good view is more than I can afford. I don't entertain much, and if I want to look over the lake and the city, I can go to the top floor. There's a tiny pool up there that's always under repair, and a big, glassed-in room for parties or just for sitting."

"The bathroom?" I asked, although I could plainly see where it was. He waved toward it.

I peed, and before washing my hands, I quietly opened his medicine cabinet, with no small amount of guilt. Shaving supplies, Band-Aids, patent cold remedies, and a prescription, 'Take one tablet every 12 hours for allergies.' A box of condoms sat on the top shelf. I took the box out and saw that the seal was still unbroken. The expiry date was only a few months from now. He hadn't had sex in months? Or years?

That could be a good sign. I wouldn't be just another notch on a man's bedpost. At least, I hoped that's what it meant. It could also be a bad sign. He might have a half-empty crate of condoms under his bed, for all I knew, and this box was left here to mislead nosy women like me. Or perhaps he was a mama's boy, afraid of sex. I had to hope that in time I'd find out more about his marriage and why it ended.

He was waiting beside the open refrigerator when I came out. "I've got fresh shrimp, a green salad, a couple of nice steaks, some potato salad, and a couple of kinds of wine."

"Shrimp and a salad sound nice," I said.

He pursed his lips and nodded. "Wine? Merlot? Zinfandel?"

Although I served up plenty of wine at Bernie's, I'd never drunk any. I was raised on Bud and Busch. "Merlot?" I had no idea what Merlot was, so it came out like a question, but he pulled the cork and poured two glasses of dark wine.

I took it from him as gracefully as my shaking hands would allow. "Red wine with seafood? Isn't that some sort of cardinal sin?" I said, looking him in the eyes with what I hoped was a seductive smile. Oh, my God! The need was there, greater than ever!

"It'll be our secret," he stage-whispered. "You're safe from the Gourmet Police here."

He took the salad from the refrigerator, already prepared and decorated with tomato and pepper slices, and covered with Saran Wrap—more evidence that he'd hoped to get me back here. When he brought out a bowl of shrimp, peeled and marinated, I was certain of it.

He prepared a fry pan with olive oil, and began to sauté the shrimp, sprinkling minced garlic on it as it sizzled. The smells made my mouth water. We chatted about the game to hide our mutual nervousness.

"Can I help you set the table?" I asked.

"It's okay. I've got a certain rhythm to getting my meals together. Comes from living alone. When you're by yourself, mealtime is usually something to get out of the way, so you can imagine what a treat it is to have you here."

When everything was ready, he took my hand and led me to a chair, and held it while I sat. My chair had a thick cushion on the seat, while his had none. He lit a candle and dimmed the lights, and sat down himself. Together with my greater height, the cushion made me inches taller than him, even sitting down. I was happy that this wasn't a problem for him as it was for most men I'd dated.

"Very nice," I said, when I'd tasted the shrimp. The wine was giving me confidence, and I speared another shrimp by the tail and nibbled at it, using my lips and the tip of my tongue to caress the food before chewing. Sure enough, he stopped what he was doing and watched. "Mm-m, this is nice," I purred.

"RoseAnn, you are so beautiful," he whispered.

I watched his eyes as I sipped my wine and slowly licked the rim of the glass to catch the last drops. "Thank you, Craig."

Now was the time to move, my instincts told me. My stomach churned, but I managed to keep my voice steady, and said, "Would you like to feed them to me?"

His head jerked back in surprise. "Feed you? ... I mean, um, yes. Yes, I would." Recovering, he moved his chair around the table. Taking the fork from my hand, he poised to spear another shrimp.

"With your fingers."