I returned that evening shortly before 7:00 p.m. I went directly to Sharon's room, where I found her with her hair and make up done, but still not dressed. I immediately took her in my arms and pulled her nearly naked body toward me, giving her a long tight hug just inside the doorway.
"I missed you, lover," I said. "But why aren't you ready?"
"You wouldn't tell me what I need to be ready for. Don't you like me like this?" she said, standing in her bra and panties with her arms held open.
I admired her lovingly, then advised her that we were going out for dinner.
"I was waiting for you to tell me what I should wear, since you did not tell me where we are going tonight," she said.
"This will be fine," I said as I handed her a box.
She opened the box and found a white silk dress with a bright floral pattern. She held it up in front of her, walked to the mirror and took a long look, turning from side to side as she did so.
"This looks like it will fit. It's very pretty," she said.
"Try it on," I replied.
She pulled the dress over her head, then turned to look in the mirror once again.
"What do you think?" she asked.
"I think it looks beautiful on you, but you are going to have to do something about that bra."
She turned and looked at the back, noticing for the first time that the dress was essentially backless, except for the spaghetti straps cris-crossing halfway down her back. She stood at the mirror for several minutes and attempted to make adjustments, but nothing she did could hide the straps. Finally, she unhooked her bra and tossed it on the bed.
"I guess this is the only thing I can do with it," she said, somewhat reluctantly.
"Don't worry, it looks great that way," I said, giving her an approving grin.
"Oh I am sure that you will like this. If it is cold wherever we are going, my nipples will be showing all night."
"Mmmmmm. Remind me again why that's a bad thing," I replied.
She slipped on a pair of open toed sandals with a very low heel, which brought her up to my height. "I'm ready. Let's go," she said.
We left the room and walked out of the hotel, arm in arm. I opened the passenger side door and let her in, then walked around to the driver's side of the car. Once inside I closed the door, and we drove off. I handed her my CD case, and told her to pick something out. She flipped through the CD's for a second, but after noticing that most of them did not clearly state the artist's name, she handed it back to me told me to pick. I quickly found a selection and inserted it into the slot. We talked about nothing in particular during the remaining 45 minute drive to South Beach.
Upon reaching the restaurant, I stopped in front of the valet who first opened the passenger's door and helped Sharon out of the car, and then took my keys, handed me a ticket, and drove off. We entered the restaurant, walking arm in arm once again.
The restaurant was dimly lit, with candles sitting amidst the crystal goblets and glasses and a small arrangement of tropical flowers adorning each table. The tables were spaced comfortably apart from one another, and the low lighting afforded an unexpected modicum of privacy. After we were seated I quickly glanced at the menu and then the wine list, and then asked Sharon what she would like to drink.
"What are you having?" she asked.
"A martini, of course."
"I'll try one also."
"Are you sure? That's a serious drink."
"I'm not a lightweight. I could probably drink you under the table."
"We'll wait for another day to find that out."
"Two Hendricks martinis, please. Not too dry. Three olives," I said to the waiter.
The waiter returned with our drinks, placing one in front of Sharon, and then the second in front of me.
"We're ready to order," I said. "A shrimp cocktail and a ceviche, to start. The lady will have a filet mignon, medium rare. Could she have mashed potatoes instead of baked?"
"We can do that."
"Good, thank you. And I will have the steak au poivre, medium rare, with rice on the side. And two chocolate souffles for dessert, please."
"Very good. And your wine selection?"
"The 2003 Opus One Cabernet, please."
"Excellent. I will be right back with your wine."
After the waiter left, Sharon took her first sip of the martini. The face she made as the liquid reached her tongue was unforgettable.
"How can you drink that?" she asked.
"I told you, it is an acquired taste," I said, as I sipped my drink. "Do you want something else?"
"No, I'll drink this. I told you. I'm not a lightweight."
We sipped our drinks and talked, holding hands across the table in the dimly lit restaurant. We paused only when our appetizers arrived. I asked the waiter to bring us two mojitos, as I did not think that Sharon would enjoy another martini.
"The mojito has become a kind of a trendy drink all over the country in the past couple of years. But it has been popular in Miami for more than 50 years. It is considered the national drink of Cuba, kind of how France is regarded for red wine, Russia for Vodka, Mexico for Tequila, and America for bad beer. I think that you will find it much more enjoyable than that martini you are somehow forcing yourself to swallow."
"I'm doing ok with this."
"I see that, but I think that you would prefer something else."
A short time later the waiter brought us our second round of drinks. Sharon gulped down the last of her martini, while I popped the olives into my mouth.
"To a perfect evening," she said, raising her glass.
"To a perfect evening with my perfect lover," I added.
We touched glasses, then raised the glasses to our lips for a taste.
"Oooooo, that's much better," she said, just before taking a second sip. "I could drink this all night."
"I know, that's what makes them so dangerous."
A few more minutes passed before the waiter returned with our bottle of wine. He opened the bottle, poured us each a glass, then took our appetizer plates away. We continued talking and holding hands, while exchanging long loving looks in between sips of our drinks. I noticed her nipples showing clearly through the thin white material of the dress.
