the thing about J--- is that she's beautiful but doesn't know it. i think she thinks she is, but she's not sure. she questions it.

when i realized this, five days after we first exchanged mails and months before i ever got a look at her, i had purpose. though this purpose came to me instantly, it would take me almost two years to fulfill it.

noon today. 12:43 to be exact. she calls. she's excited. she's finally finished a big contract job.

"i've been staring at the damn screen for so many days and nights--i can't believe it's finally over."

she called me because i'm her only self-employed friend. i hear her puttering about as she talks on her cordless. i listen past her voice and hear the rustle of silverware as she opens a drawer. then, footsteps and the dull squeak of a cabinet being opened. finally, a sigh.

"what?"

"out of peanut butter. fuck."

"well, you can't really celebrate without peanut butter."

"i know!"

"you want me to send some over in a cab?"

she laughs.

"smooth or crunchy?"

"mmmm? smooooth."

"okay."

"you serious?"

"sure. stay in your pj's. i'll call beck."

"you're sweet."

"it's all a clever ruse to get in those jammies."

"so you'll be in the cab too?"

"do you want me to be?"

she hung up.

i didn't want to show up with a half-empty jar, so my first stop was the grocery store. natural or with preservatives? i'd heard a cupboard and not a fridge so i grabbed the kraft.

i called my usual cabbie and he was in scarboro. no good to me. i stepped out of the booth and hailed one after a minute of pacing.

the driver was talkative and i encouraged him. they've always got some tidbit of wisdom. they've also always got a second job or an unfulfilled dream. this guy wrote romance novels. "not published yet."

i asked him if he'd actually completed a novel or if he was unpublished because he was unfinished. he admitted the latter. "just... stuck!"

we pulled up in front of J---'s place.

i asked if he knew what the job of a romance writer was, because i've always got some tidbit of wisdom, too.

he said "yeah, to get the lady readers excited."

"that's your problem."

"what's that?"

i handed him a ten on a $8 fare.

"getting the reader off isn't your job. your job is to take two people who are meant to be together... and keep them apart as long as possible."

he thought about it. i watched him in the rearview mirror. he laughed and reached in his pocket for change.

"keep it."

"thanks."

i stepped out of the cab. as i made my way up the walk, he called "hey!" from behind me. i turned. he'd rolled down the window. "thanks!"

J--- had a smoke in her mouth when she answered the door. she'd changed out of her pyjamas. i held up the peanut butter and she smiled and led the way into her apartment.

she's 5'3" so i stayed 3 steps behind her on the stairs, my head on the same horizontal plane as her ass all the way up to the top. she held her cig at waist height and i had to wade through the smoke as i followed. i can't explain it, but the combination of the steep steps and the smoke made the climb feel very slow motion. it was like i was swimming behind her, or floating with her down a river on a slow, steady current.

we turned left at the top and went into the kitchen. she'd opened a bottle of wolf blass red, presumably to let it breath. the cork sat on the counter, impaled on the screw. she took the peanut butter from me and tried to open it. she got a weird look on her face when it wouldn't turn. "just... stuck!" she handed it back and went to the silverware drawer.

"okay if we share a spoon?"

she closed the drawer before i answered.

picking up the wine, she headed into the bedroom which doubled as a living room. well, the tv was there, anyway.

"we gonna watch a movie?" i asked.

"i hope not. i've stared at enough bright squares lately, thanks."

i noticed two wine glasses, one on each of the bedside tables.

"i was hoping we could make out," she said.

her bluntness caught me off guard and though i'm sure it showed on my face, i kept my surprise to myself. it's safe to say that i've fantasized more about J--- than i have about any other woman. it's also safe to say that i've kissed and touched J--- less than any woman i've ever fantasized about.

"whose definition of making out?" we'd argued about the definition many times in the past.

"oldschool. yours. but i guess it depends on the wine." she poured.

"or the peanut butter."

i handed it back to her, opened.

we sat on the bed, the jar between us, the spoon planted in the butter like a flag claiming first discovery.

we held up our glasses.

i said: "Il boca al lupo," and we clinked glasses.

J---'s bed is a real woman's bed: it's high, it's the right firmness, and it has all the proper layers of bedding in a kickass thread count. if she weren't excellent in so many other ways i'd like her just for the fact that she puts care into where she sleeps.

i watched the way she sipped the shiraz. i wanted to be the wine. i wanted to touch her lips and leave a trace. i wanted to be gentle and smooth on her tongue.

my face must have revealed my thoughts because she lowered the glass and curved the corners of her mouth up. she reached passed me, leaning in, and placed her wine on my table. her proximity gave me goosebumps. i closed my eyes for a second, and breathed her in.

when i opened them again, she was watching me. her smile became a grin. she put the peanut butter on the table behind her. i gazed at her neck as she did it. she took my glass and put it next to the sandwich spread. i glanced at her breasts, and her beautiful bald head as she stretched to place the glass solidly on the surface.

turning back to face me, she removed her glasses. she folded the right arm of the frames, then the left, and placed them between us on the duvet.

i watched as she reclined and lay on her back on the bed. she adjusted herself, moving north till her head was just right on the pillow.

if you look at J---, you just *know* that she kisses *right*. she's the kind of woman who knows when to pout, when to cuss, when to surrender control, and when to take it; she prefers sun to snow, truth to fiction, and kissing to fucking, "most of the time."

"come here."

i moved slowly, trying to be tender. i minded her specs and put one knee on either side of her. i leaned in, imagining myself gorgeous and fuzzy in her myopic gaze.

i kissed her lips first, savoring the freshly set wine and the fleeting taste of her cigarette. i made sure she knew i appreciated her mouth--not that she was letting me kiss her, but that she was sharing herself with me and letting me share myself with her. she was giving me her trust and i made certain not to betray her with a falsely placed kiss or touch. i'd let her know she could kiss me beyond the point of bruised lips, if that's what she wanted to do.

i moved south and touched my tongue to her throat, then brushed away my wet with my lips.

i kissed slowly, neglecting nothing above her shoulders. i christened her cheeks, her chin, her nose, her lips, her ears, her neck, and the top and sides of her head. her eyes were closed and i could tell that she was enjoying this. thoughts of layouts and pantone chips were replaced with considerate pecks and licks.

when she seemed ready, i started to talk to her with my right hand. first, i spoke to her stomach and marvelled at how well a palm and a navel can mate. i rotated it counterclockwise and worked my way under her shirt before interrogating her ribs. her top was getting bungie and she sat up an inch and made a poor effort to pull it off.

i took her cue and coaxed the buttons loose. i parted the fabric and looked down at her beautiful stomach. i lay my cheek on it and rode five breaths. i turned and whispered into her belly. i looked up at her.

she'd opened her eyes now and was watching me. i kissed her and moved north. i kissed her again and moved further north, and repeated this a third time. my face now hovered between her breasts, which were still trapped snugly beneath white lace and cotton. i cupped the bottom of the left one and pressed my lips against its upper curve. i moved my mouth in small increments, hovering slightly above between each kiss. she made a noise. i looked up.

her eyes were closed again but she noticed my pause and opened them. i thought at first she was embarassed at being caught but her look quickly changed to one of confidence and she started to force me over onto my back.

"wait!"

she stopped.

i grabbed her glasses and tossed them to the safety of a pile of laundry that sat on a chair.

in an instant, i was lying flat and she was on top of me, she undid her bra and slid it free while keeping her shirt on. she reached down through her legs and grabbed hold of my t-shirt, cajoling it past her and up and over my head. she quickly lowered her face to mine and we kissed again in the afternoon silence, each of us taking turns at exciting the other.

i spent most of evening there. i loved watching her shoulders and hips when she was on top of me and i thrilled when she begged me not to stop when i was on top of her. the timing in our give and take was in flow. we knew when to be dominant and when to submit. we were quiet without being awkward and verbal without being crass.

we were two people who finally had nothing to hide. we cuddled and caressed, sucked and screwed, and, finally, we spooned and slept.

i wanted her completely and i dreamt that she wanted me desperately.

i woke first and watched her sleep. her cheeks were moist with sweat but i imagined she'd cried, sad that it had taken this long to feel this right.

Dobbs