When you break down the sentence… #2
“I can only tell you two things: use your days off because you deserve a rest, and enjoy every moment because you deserve happiness,” Toska concludes at the very end. “As for Jan— he is a completely different man from the ones you’ve dated so far, and…”
“Well, that’s right, he is not my type after all!” My reaction is spontaneous and immediate. “Believe me, I’m surprised myself that I’m so drawn to him. Especially since sometimes I feel like strangling him.”
“I know exactly what you are talking about. We will see how the situation develops. Be sure to let me know.”
“Sure. Kisses to you and the boys.”
“Thanks. Have a great time. Bye.”
After camouflaging my sin (with gum and perfume), I return inside with the pie. The kitchen is cleaned to a shine, and there is no trace of my lover.
“Jan, where are you?!” I wash my hands and start cutting the pie. “Jan, will you have a slice?!”
I don’t hear any sounds except for the running dishwasher.
I take two plates of apple pie and set out to find him. As soon as I enter the corridor and see the light under the study door, I guess why he didn’t answer. He’s probably rummaging in the innards of a watch again.
I have no way to knock, so I press the handle with my elbow and push the door open.
Just as I thought. Jan is sitting bent over his desk, tinkering with a mechanism. He’s so engrossed in what he’s doing that he doesn’t even hear me come in.
“Hi. Would you like some pie?” I ask and put the plate on the desk.
“Not here. I’ll eat in the kitchen when I’m done.”
“OK.” My guess is that he doesn’t want to have crumbs all over the workspace, which is actually understandable. I look at the precision with which he removes the tiny hand from the dial with tweezers. There you go, such big paws yet so graceful. “When can I expect you?” I ask and take the plate.
He glances at the clock on the wall, which shows six thirty. It’s a bit bigger than the one in the apartment and, horror of horrors, it also has a fucking pendulum, which means it’s going to chime during the night!
“At 10:15,” he replies.
“Very funny.”
He looks at me.
“Did you consider my answer funny?” he asks quite seriously.
Well, gosh, will he really ignore me and keep romancing his Sexpile wonder?
“I thought we would spend the evening together. I don’t understand why you brought me here if you prefer to sit alone in the study and fix the watch.”
“I always do my watchmaking for two and a half hours at this time. At eight, I indulge in an hour’s reading of a book. Then I spend fifteen minutes on evening personal hygiene. It follows that at 10:15, we will see each other in bed.”
Here we go again! I’m about to push a pie in his face, I swear!
“Jan, it doesn’t work like that. Either you change your awesome plans and spend this evening with me, or I’m taking an Uber home and the only thing you’ll see in bed will be your reflection in the mirror.” Because, of course, the closet in the bedroom is identical to the one in the apartment.
Jan looks at me, confused.
“Do you want to go home?”
“It’s up to you. What are you going to do tomorrow?”
“The usual on a day off.”
Oh dear, we’ve already been through this, no kidding.
“And where is there room for me in all this?”
“I scheduled time for us to have morning sex, breakfast together, lunch, dinner, and evening sex.”
Oh, I am utterly flattered to be the source of satisfying His Lordship’s two basic physiological needs. But, where the hell are the others?
“It doesn’t make sense, Jan. I can’t do it like that.
” I shake my head, feeling that my hands are already numb from holding the plates of apple pie.
It’s getting to me that my coming here was a mistake.
“I understand that you like to have everything arranged and under control, but I can’t live like this.
If you want to spend the next few days together with me, we have to compromise. ”
“What do you have in mind?”
“We will split the days. I take today’s, you take tomorrow’s, the day after tomorrow is mine, and the day after tomorrow is yours, and so on until the New Year.
I decide what we do on ‘my day’ and you decide what we do during ‘your day’.
There is only one rule: we both have to be agreeable on a day that is not ours. ”
“Meaning?”
“On ‘my days’ when I say, ‘Jan, let’s go for a walk, shall we?’, you will answer, ‘Yes, Maria.’ On ‘your days’ when you say, ‘Maria, I’m going to go sit in the study for an hour, okay?
’ then I’ll answer, ‘Sure, Jan.’ Of course, everything must be within reason.
We can’t force the other person to do things that will somehow harm them or go against their values. ”
He looks at me with wide-open eyes. If I hadn’t known him, I would have thought he was terrified.
“What if I don’t agree to such an arrangement?”
“Then nothing will change in your life. I’ll just pack up, we’ll say goodbye amicably, I’ll go home today, and you’ll spend the next few days off the way you usually do: alone, according to the established order and without unnecessary surprises.”
He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and exhales.
I can see from him that he is fighting an inner battle.
My heart starts beating faster because I know that it’s over between us if he doesn’t accept my proposal.
Will I be sorry if he refuses? Yes. Did I overreact by giving him an ultimatum?
No. Because even if I’ve already started to feel something for him, I’m not suited for a relationship ruled by a predetermined schedule.
It’s not my world. So, either we’ll get along and each of us will find something for ourselves in this relationship, or there’s no point in dragging it out.
“I agree.” The answer finally comes, and I breathe a sigh of relief. “Am I to understand that you decide what we do on December twenty-fifth, twenty-seventh, twenty-ninth and thirty-first, and I decide what we do on December twenty-sixth, twenty-eighth, and thirty and January first?”
“That’s right.”
“So what is your plan for today?”
“Very simple.” I smile. “My plan is to have no plan.”
“I don’t understand.”
“We do what I feel like doing at any given time. And now I feel like eating the damn pie already because my hands are about to fall off. Let’s go to the kitchen, shall we, Jan?” I look at him suggestively.
He sighs and rises from his chair.
“Yes, Maria.”
Hee-hee-hee. And that’s how it’s done.
I leave his office all happy .
*
I’m a genius! And I don’t mean my mathematical abilities. I’m a genius of persuasion. As we sit side by side on the bar stools, and Jan begins to separate the baked apples from the dough with a fork, I suggest that he at least taste a whole bite of the apple pie:
“Just a piece. To have a taste. If you don’t like it, you can spit it out.”
“I don’t want to.” His is a definite answer.
“Why?” I’m already devouring a second helping at an express pace and taking an extra piece. The pie is delicious. Maybe I could add it for free to every sold piece of furniture?
“I already told you, I don’t like mixing ingredients.”
“So, when was the last time you ate apple pie?”
He thinks for a moment.
“Thirty years, seven months and eight days ago. It tasted awful.”
I laugh, covering my full mouth. God, what a man.
“So you were eight years old.”
“Eight years, three months and two days,” he specifies.
“And don’t you think your taste buds may have matured a bit since then, not saying anything about the rest of your body?”
He doesn’t deny it (which I see as a good sign), but continues to scrape the bottom of the pie, pushing away all the apples.
“You’ve never had apple pie like this, I assure you. Try just a little, fortune favors the bold. I swear that if you don’t like it, I’ll leave you alone.” I am pushing him to the limit. “Otherwise I’ll pester you for the rest of our stay in Szczyrk.” I put another piece on my plate.
“You won’t have anything to pester me with. If you keep up this pace of getting extra servings, the pie will be gone in forty-two minutes.”
“Then I’ll make another one. I still have five almost expired eggs and half a packet of fake butter left.” I grit my teeth. “Try it, please. Just a little bit.”
“Maria, give it a rest.” He scoops up a pile of baked apples onto one half of his plate, while the other half holds dry dough.
I put a small portion of my serving onto a fork and lift it toward Jan.
“Please, pretty please. I have worked so hard. I put so much heart and work into preparing this apple pie.” I make sheep’s eyes at him. “It would mean a lot to me if you tasted my pie. Can you do it for me?” I stare at him imploringly.
But he looks into my eyes implacably and says, “No. Besides, eating with the same fork is unhygienic.”
I burst out laughing.
“Jan, your tongue has become familiar with my tongue, pussy, and ass. Do you really think sharing a fork will be less hygienic than this?”
A murmur escapes from his throat. He narrows his eyes.
“Open your mouth, Jan, and I guarantee I’ll make use of my own in return. And I’ll do it any way you want it.”
“The way I want it?” He looks at my lips.
“Absolutely.” I move the fork closer to his mouth.
“So we have a deal.” Jan leans slowly toward me and takes the pie from the fork to his mouth.
BULL’S-EYE! He has fallen for me, hook, line, and sinker. I watch him move his jaw as he swallows. I don’t see an expression of revulsion or delight on his face. He simply ate, period.
“And how did you like it?”
“I’ll tell you later. On your knees.”
“What?” I look at him, surprised.
“We had a deal. On your knees.” He reaches down to my lower lip, drags his thumb across it, and it occurs to me that he is just about to make use of my mouth .
“You could at least tell me if it was good.” I get down from the bar stool, kneel in front of Jan, and he stands up without saying a word, undoes his belt buckle, unzips his pants, pulls them down with his boxer-briefs, and pulls out his manhood.