A Taste of Midnight
© Patrick Iversen
Dedicated to SBZ

She sat directly across from me, shyly sipping her Riesling.

Flickering between us, the waxed flame battled a faint breeze to survive.

The emerald-eyed woman had barely touched her soup. Perhaps, saving room for the main course -- I sure was.

My nose involuntarily twitched-- the odor of her heavily perfumed frame. What on earth did she think was going to happen here tonight?

I am uncertain as to why she appeared so nervous. Have I not been a most excellent host so far?

The woman is very sweet, or at least I should hope so. We touched on all topics—world politics, the weather, she used to spend her summers at her aunt's I learned.
Still, I was too ravenous to give a damn about the dinghy she caught her first cichlid in.

The gong startled her; it was midnight, concealing her yawns- not used to the night.
Her nose scrunching, smelling the cooked mutton. I had given Nigel the night off; I had to retrieve her meal.
            Was the point.

Excused myself, chair quietly creaked. Her eyes locking onto mine. So exquisite, I wanted her more than ever.

My gaze shifted, sensual neckline—voluptuous, licking my lips - my teeth, she didn't notice, hypnotized by my gaping stare.

Sauntering by, running my index through her darkly hair. Felt her shiver.
Her anxiety: now cloaked in lust.
I smirked… Tend to wear mine on my sleeve.

Meat smelled good, if that's your thing. I know the hounds liked it rare-- how I cooked it.

Silver casing on top of the dish, enjoyed being fancy.
Especially for her.

My shadow, engulfing her sexy frame. Setting the dish onto her placemat from above her head.
My eyes rolled back as my ear brushed against hers, she gasped. We trembled.
Resisting: Almost a game to me now.
I masochistically veered up, removing the lid.

She purred at the dish, pulling her wine glass closer just as I couldn't defy my needs any longer.

A fun one she might have been I thought, as her neck muscles clenched, my teeth swimming in a crimson sea. 
Dame didn't squirm so much, grasping herself; her cheeks became less rosy as it leaked onto the table.

Left her sitting upright, out of respect.

Felt refreshed- Spotting her inviting wine -- a simple gulp, at least before the sun.

Fascinating… I thought I had served a tasty white, not Chiante.