"It's so funny." She laughed, tossed her hair to one side. "Men are under the total and utter belief that women's desire does not exist."
"I didn't say that," he answered, "I just said that women don't want sex like men do. You don't think about it like we do, you won't go to the point of nearly destroying and debasing yourself just to get off."
She raised one perfectly smoothed eyebrow in a smirk. "We can't." she said plainly. "You can. Thousands of years of the patriarchy rest between your legs and between mine there is nothing but the threat of shame and unwanted pregnancy."
"Cheery." He sank back in his chair, eyed her over the detritus of dinner. "I still don't agree though. It's not the same. Men and women are, you can't deny it, different."
She shook her head, her curls quivering. "No. Desire isn't different. Not really, but our bodies are and that's what matters."
"Well, I'm glad." He said, "Because I'm really a tits guy at heart."
She laughed from behind her wine glass, set it back down on the table. "I think we're just going to have to agree to disagree."
He nodded, said nothing.
"There's nothing else you want?" she asked, cocking her head to the side, nodding towards the kitchen beyond.
"Nothing else food or drink centric, no." he said, "Only you."
She shook her head like she'd done many times before and gave him a look. The look; the look that told him she knew he was an idiot but she kept him around anyway. He liked the thought of being useful and entertaining for her.
"Well then you're going to have to wait." She sighed. "I want to eat pudding, even if you don't."
"Okay." He smiled. "I will. Would you like me to clear the table? I can at least be useful, right?"
She smiled, stood, stretched, her bones clicking. "No, no." she shook her head. "I will. You worked so hard at dinner it seems only fair."
As she passed she squeezed his shoulder, a smile playing on her lips. In truth, she hadn't been quite sure what she had expected when he mentioned he'd like to accept her request, her offer of dinner and drinks and playtime. Pulling the dish from the fridge, the bruised purple skins of the plums she'd arranged so delicately in the dish, their bright middles soaked in the bitter alcohol, she realised that she was glad she'd asked. She smiled contentedly. This was one of her favourite desserts made better by the vanilla tinged, creamy topping and the tiny flecks of almonds she scattered across the top. She grabbed a spoon and, at the last minute, a second one. Just in case.
"You sure I can't tempt you?" she asked, sliding back into the seat, noting that he'd neatly stacked their abandoned plates into the centre of the table.
He shook his head, watching her dig into the bowl, her hair falling into her face. She flipped it over her shoulder, focused on him again. He grinned.
"Suit yourself." She said, licking the spoon. "It's good, if I do say so myself."
He shrugged. "I was just wondering about, uh, playing tonight."
"Oh?" she looked up. "Are you okay? If you feel uncomfortable or don't want to I'll understand. We don't have to get to it right away, you know."
"No, no." he said, "It's not that. I just wondered, what you were wanted tonight."
She smirked at him, watched him shift in his chair. "Well." She began, "First you can stop that thing with your knee." She gestured towards him with the spoon then swooped it back into her bowl.
"Oh." He looked down, blushed at his bobbing leg then stopped.
"Then you can take your clothes off." She said.
"Oh. Now?" he asked.
"Yes." She said. "Now, please."
"Yeah." He didn't know what else to say and desperately grappled for a better response but nothing came. Instead, he focused on the insects filling his chest and his shallow breaths, the warm metal of his belt buckle as he stood.
"Good boy." She leaned back in a chair and watched him kick off his shoes, pull off his socks and peel away his jeans. "Step around here so I can see you properly." She gestured with a short nod of her head to the square of carpet to her left. He moved as asked, awkward and blushing, acutely self-conscious, all knees and limbs and nerves in the face of her Rubenesque calm.
