I Am Real...Really

“So here we are,” the pretty redhead said as she gracefully sat on the sofa and smoothed her lap.Smiling expectantly, she looked directly into her companion’s eyes.

“Yes, indeed, here we are,” the handsome young man, still standing, replied. “May I?” he asked gesturing to the overly stuffed chair.

Making a graceful arc with her arm ending with the classic ‘soft hand’, “How rude of me not to offer. Yes, by all means. Make yourself comfy,” she answered. Her smile radiating apologies. All meant to impress.

Lacking the graceful gestures of a trained danseur and realizing the futility of competing with her physical elegance he decided on charm.

“May I say how beautiful you look this evening. You are a feast for the eyes, my dear.” As he heard his words, he almost wished them back. Was he too forward? No. She is sophisticated, let’s have some fun.

“Yes, you may. I hope you are still hungry,” she teased, just barely licking her ruby red lips with the tip of her tongue, enough to be sure he saw the effort. And he did, enjoying the glisten, perhaps a promise, he mused.

“Ahh, so many ‘may I’s.’ Do you always ask before you do?”

“Do what? Is there something you would like me to do?” he parried, looking stern and approachable.

Well done she thought.

“Everything you do.Do you ever take? Not ask. Just act.”

“I try to be polite. In certain situations, the permission is often there but not heard. Perhaps a better word is submission. I enjoy both. Don’t you in the right setting?”

Not waiting for a reply, to demonstrate his assertiveness, he rose, standing tall. Hands on his hips pulling the bottom of his blazer behind his manly hips, she could see his tight pants had no pleats. The pose eliminated any doubt. He was fully equipped. Eyes moving up, she appreciated his deep breath in, the buttons on his white dress shirt straining against his muscular chest. Were those his nipples?

“For you a martini, dry, two very large olives…” he said, more than a suggestion.

Looking as if she were about to protest, he held up his hand … gracefully. Hmm, was he a danseur?

“Ahhh, yes you are right to protest. Let us make tonight the most special. A dream night without the slumber. Champagne Jacques Selosse 2003 it is.”

She smiled, enjoying his lead. “Jacques, it’s been a while. Really, my friend… you have a bottle of Jacques Substance 2003? Are you sure? That’s very risky. The second glass can be….” she trailed off.

He waited, just a small pause, polite in case she found the words. “Dangerous, Oui.” He finished for her.“But I am here to protect you.”

Laughing, she teased, “But who will protect you?”

“As the frog who is kissed by the princess I am in your pond,” he said earnestly.

It landed with a thud. Taken aback, she smiled, and wanting him to recover, she flatly uttered, “Where’s that champagne?”

Ah, her shift in mood. He saw it. Just like Cindy Bale, the Cinder, at her ten year old birthday party. She was so happy to see him till he spilled grape soda on her white party dress.That still hurt.

Holding a weak smile, her left hand moved red hair behind her ear. She made sure he saw. His discomfort registered, she realized she wasn’t playing the game as well as she wanted. Here he comes, she thought, look inviting.

A glass in each hand, he approached her, both their smiles and eyes locked in. Neither looking at the full glass of champagne. The transfer was accomplished, even graceful. If only The Cinder could see him now, he thought. He moved Cinder out of the hurt box and into the lesson learned.

He held his flute out to her and she did the same.

He spoke, “I propose we break tradition. Would you be so good as to propose a toast?”

With mischief she spoke, “Absolutely! Well, a manly role, the first toast, requires the wearing of pants. Would you lend me yours?”

“Perhaps you could lower your voice instead?” he said without missing a beat.

With an uncannily low pitch she purred, “You mean like this: Here’s to men that want, to men that take. Here’s to women who wait. To women that mate.”

Now it was his turn to be confused. “What? What does that even mean?”

A glitch.

“Are you not human?” she yelled. “Does everything have to make sense? Does love make sense? Not to me it doesn’t. Did you hear my words: ‘Here’s to women who wait. To women that mate.’”

She’s really upset. With this insight, he thought maybe I should have given her my pants.

Music!, he thought. “Alexa, play Stairway to Heaven.”

Alexa: “Stairway to Heaven by Led Zeppelin.”

They listened, the guitar chords calming, resetting the mood.

She took his offered hand. A classic dancers embrace, loose. Space to breathe and move. The better dancer, she still yielded to his lead. He did not disappoint. Reassured she drew him in. Soon they were together not locked but moving as if one, his thigh a brace as she swayed on his leg and then hers as he pushed against her firm and soft leg… how can that be, he thought, firm and soft.

“Just enjoy it,” she whispered into his ear.

“You can read my mind, can’t you.”

“You learn with experience. Not too much changes at this point.”

He would try to make it interesting. “It’s a classic. What does it mean to you?”

“A Stairway to Heaven?” she said. “Just that. A Stairway to Heaven.”

“You mean tonight, for you and me, this will be a stairway to heaven?” he asked with anticipation, pulling her closer wanting her to feel his willingness on her leg. Knowing that she did.

There it is, she thought. Not much changes at this point. She pushed back with her leg.

Alexa: “Midnight. Time for bed.”

“Honey, it’s time for bed.” Loud enough to be heard throughout the house. “I’ll turn this thing off. Thank goodness we’re getting a new one tomorrow. Oh, did I tell you? We’re getting two. The company called it’s a two-for on the Robot AI sale. And they threw in the X rated programing for free.”

Switching the robot off and saying a final goodbye to this model, with a small pang of loss, a thought, the psychiatrist was right; it really did help my social anxiety. I think these X models will be good for both of us.