Chapter Four A Positively Medieval Date #3
I felt overwhelmed, in a good way. This was how I had pictured conversations with fictional men—their utter interest in even the smallest details of my life, the thought and honesty I would put behind each answer.
It was that stage of a crush where everything moved slowly when you were together and time never ran out.
The sun was centered in the sky when we arrived at a relatively small clearing.
They really were ruins. A rounded building made of white stone stood in the center.
Part of the roof had caved in, and the porch was circled by Doric columns in orderly lines.
The trees had pressed in close, and broken bits of white block lay in several piles around the shady meadow.
Off the horses, I stretched while Draw traded their bridle and bit for rope halters, removed their saddles, and hobbled them to eat grass. He removed a small pack from his saddle and took my hand. A flurry went through my stomach.
I expected Draw to lead me to the porch of the ruins, but instead he spread a blanket in the grass so we could view it from our picnic.
I was about to ask what his father’s conclusions had been about the use of the building when Draw said with utter seriousness, “Dottie dear, how many men have you been with?”
“What?” I said alarmed.
He was nonchalant. “I told you my sexual history within a day of meeting you. I’m just trying to understand your experience.”
“Why?” I was not going to leave this conversation looking good.
From his amused expression, I could tell he was enjoying my anxiety on some level.
Draw removed a collection of items from his bag—waterskins, a paper-wrapped wheel of cheese, cloth-wrapped bread, apples, and a covered container.
“Because I have plans,” he said, “hopes really, and I’d hate for any of them to make you uncomfortable.
That would, in fact, do the opposite of what I want.
” He studied my face and seemed to think better of his humor.
“I’m sorry, am I being too forward? I thought—”
“It’s fine,” I said quickly. I too had ideas of what we could do on this date. “I’m just a little embarrassed.”
“Dottie, we had a whole conversation about how that author of yours made it out that I only liked men and then I passionately kissed a woman from another planet to prove otherwise. Trust me?”
He offered me a piece of bread spread with creamy cheese and diced peppers. I took it but made no move to eat.
Draw was still watching me with those olive eyes.
He untied his black hair, and it fell in thick bunches around his shoulders.
I wanted to run my hands through that hair, wrap those long legs around me, let him put that elegant mouth on mine.
To be so forward about it all though...I didn’t know how to respond.
He picked up an apple and bit into it.
One of the things I was coming to understand was something he said when we had our initial late-night conversation at Castle Creneda—it really was the mind he fell in love with. Talking was important to him. Part of the foreplay even.
I finally said, “We call them boyfriends in Mayfair. I’ve had three. My first was in high school, so I was about seventeen. We only kissed, and not well.”
Draw smiled, but not unkindly.
“Then in college, um, university, I had a boyfriend for about two weeks in the first year, then one in junior year for a longer time, Henry.”
Draw raised a brow. “And what did you do with Henry?”
I blinked rapidly, trying to cover my embarrassment. “Wow, you want to know it all, don’t you?” I sounded a bit surly, even to my own ears.
Draw was at my side in an instant, his half-eaten apple left on the blanket. “Oh, dear Dottie, come here. Believe it or not, I’m trying to help, as clumsy as my attempts might be.”
I took a breath to try to infuse myself with the same kind of composure Draw had. “I know, and it’s good to ask, to talk about, but I don’t have the same kind of experiences you’ve had—or the confidence!—and I feel so—”
He cut me off, shaking his head. He put his hand on my wrist, running his fingers under the hem of my sleeve. He didn’t say, We don’t have to talk about it, because that wasn’t who he was.
Instead, he prompted me. “Am I reading you correctly if I say it seems these boy friends didn’t mean much to you?”
I nodded.
“Even poor Henry?”
I shrugged.
“Why were you with them, Dottie?”
I threw up my hands. “That’s what I asked myself.
At first, it was exciting being pursued, but it fizzled out after the initial thrill of being asked to be a girlfriend.
It felt like once they had me, they only seemed half as interested as before.
” I swallowed. “I think what you’re really trying to understand is what I’ve done. ..physically, right?”
Draw smiled but didn’t hide it. “I don’t like to make assumptions,” he explained.
I took a bite of my bread and shifted so I could lay my head on his shoulder. I was being sneaky though—I didn’t want to have to look him in the face while I talked.
“You did go further than kissing these boy friends though?” he prompted me.
“Yeah.” I paused, spinning the ring on my finger. “Are you sure you want to hear this?”
His hand dipped to my waist and rested there. “I want to know everything about you, Dottie of Mayfair.”
When I first met Draw, everyone really, I thought they were fictional characters. People I was in charge of moving around on a page. That wasn’t Draw. Things had gotten both harder and easier since then.
“Okay, um, most people in my world seem so much more proficient than me. Henry and I did a lot with our clothes still on. A lot of touching and grinding against each other. Then we finally made it to the clothes-off stage and, while it was educational, it wasn’t exactly what I expected.
I gave him oral sex. He did not reciprocate.
Then we had intercourse twice. We broke up soon after.
” I said this last part in a rush and felt the heat in my cheeks.
I’d worried since then about, well, everything really.
That there had been something wrong with me.
That I’d weighted Henry’s pleasure over my own.
(And what kind of woman would do that?) That I’d ruined my chances at happiness while pining over book characters, the men in my own world appearing nowhere near their equal.
I sniffed.
Draw looked at me and did a double take. He tilted my chin up, but that wasn’t enough, so he drew me into him.
“It’s hard to talk about,” I said to his chest, trying to swallow back tears.
“Thank you for telling me.”
I pushed back to look him in the face. “Is it a problem?” I burst.
Draw looked alarmed. He gave a half smile. “That those boys didn’t see what they had in front of them? Of course. That your experiences don’t mirror my own? Of course not. That we have a skin of fine red wine that’s going to sour in the sun? Definitely.”
He reached for the waterskin and tugged the cork out, offering it to me first. We both took a drink. I ate hungrily then. Draw returned to his apple but kept half an eye on me. It seemed he wanted to say something a few times and instead chose to sip the wine.
We talked more about the ruins, and I told him about visiting the Cahokia Mounds in school.
That led us to the subject of American history and Draw had a lot of questions.
By that point, we were lying on the blanket, my head on Draw’s stomach, his arms around me.
It was comfortable, lovely even, but to be honest I had expected something more to happen.
Clearly, I had scared him off by admitting my lack of expertise. And crying had been a mistake.
The sun came from behind the clouds.
“Should we go see the ruins?” he asked.
We stood up and I cast a glance at the horses. Both were munching systematically at the weeds.
Draw took my hand and tugged me after him. The stone steps leading up to the portico were worn smooth in the center, as if a thousand years of people had scaled the steps just like we were. I ran my fingers over the stone columns, weathered by time.
“It’s beautiful,” I said.
“I thought you would like it,” he said, almost shy.
There was no door. I followed Draw inside. I told him I had expected rubble under the open side of the roof and Draw explained that his father cleared most of it, engaging the kids in the work for a time.
“And no one comes here?” My back was to Draw, and I felt the air flex around us.
“No one.” He came behind and put his hands on my hips. He felt warm in the coolness of the ruin. “We’ll only do as much as you like, Dottie.”
My breath hitched in my throat. We were alone. Draw wanted me.
I leaned my head back against his chest and he bent to nuzzle my neck. A shiver went through me. His hands gripped at the sides of my hips, and I took one and led it to my rib cage. He explored my stomach and waist over my shirt while his breath came hot against my ear.
I turned and backed him against a wall. His mouth was parted, his eyelids half-closed with desire.
He bent his knees while pressing back into the wall to bring his hips level with mine and I tucked myself into him.
Our mouths and hips locked. I could feel he was hard.
His hands went to my backside, and I groaned.
I slid my hands under his shirt, letting my fingertips snake across his skin.
He was breathing heavily against my mouth and I felt satisfied I seemed to be having the same effect on him that he was on me.
I wanted this to go well, wanted to do—perform—well, but more than that, I felt utterly pulled apart by my want for him. While my head sought measure and caution to ensure I looked good in front of him, my body was nearly acting of its own accord.