I smile vaguely.
“Have you ever had sex in your life?” I ask.
She blushes even further and shakes her head.
“I didn’t even kiss anyone,” she says. “I…um…with boys…men…it never felt right, and my mother told me my interest in girls was merely a phase, and she would not have a lesbian daughter, and then I got older, and well?—“
“Are you telling me that kissing me was the first time for you?” I cannot believe my ears.
She nods and gets as small as she can.
“Do not hide,” I tell her and pull her chin up. “None of it is bad.”
“I’m a wallflower,” she says, and I feel the pain in her voice. “You said it yourself.”
“Yes. I told you that you hide behind it. There was no, and never will be, any judgment. I rather enjoy it. You should have noticed earlier.”
“Is that what you mean by peculiar tastes?” she asks. “That I kneel for you?”
“A small part,” I say. “I can show you more.”
Our starters arrive. A wonderful, in a square arranged guacamole on a round plate, decorated with edible flowers and Emiliano’s sourdough bread.
She stares at the three sets of cutlery, and then her hands clench into fists.
“The outer one,” I say. “You work yourself from the outside to the inside with each dish.”
She sighs, and I sense it does more to her than it should.
“There is nothing embarrassing about it,” I add. “You grew up in a different environment. There is nothing I cannot teach you.”
Her eyes wander up into mine in a stolen glance of pure devotion. “Show me more,” she says silently, and a fluttery sensation surges once more through my chest.
“I will,” I say. “I am going to ask you some questions before, all of which you will answer without hesitation and in absolute truth.”
“Okay,” she says and takes a forkful of the guacamole in such a lucious way I have to take deep breaths in and out. Images come to my mind's eye, and because I am who I am, I grasp her chin and brush over her bottom lip with my thumb, so its tip enters her mouth. Her eyes bore into mine, but all I can see is my thumb in her mouth.
“Suck it,” I tell her, and she rolls her shoulders in utmost discomfort. Her eyes flash towards the other guests in the restaurant.
“Do it,” I reinforce my order. “No one will notice.”
She opens her mouth further and sucks in my thumb. Her tongue trails around it, and for a single moment, she pushes her mouth onto it, so my thumb is fully in her mouth.
My lips curve with pleasure.
“We are going to have so much fun, Miss Phillips,” I say as I remove my thumb and take my own cutlery.
I give her a moment to eat in peace before I start questioning her.
“Tell me,” I say. “How do you touch yourself when you’re alone?”
“Touch myself?” she asks.
“Yes, touch yourself. Masturbating.”
Her gaze drops down immediately, and I can already guess the answer.
“I—I don’t. Why would I?”
