This is a fantasy for those over 18. Actions in the story could be dangerous if you don’t know what you are doing. Know what you are doing or don’t do it.
Well it is never a good sign in your life if you’re going on a blind date set up by your sister. Especially since childhood meant never turning your back on her. We had gotten to the live and let live stage as adults and I was desperate enough for contact to take the chance. Gloria’s veterinarian might replace my hand for a night with a little luck. And to be honest it would be getting lucky. I’d reached the tipping point age where you either say fuck it this is what I’m going to be, or you skulk into a gym, desperately work out a few times and then go to the bars trying to impress a lady with, “Well I do work out.” Even though it had been a month since you pushed something heavier than a donut.
Like most guys I’m visual first, everything else second, and I’m not an ass man or boob guy, I’ll gladly look at anything you want to show me. As I come up the walk I can see her locking up her front door. Sweet ass, not too big, curvy. Pencil skirt, hose, and heels, nice legs. Holy shit, she’s got a half sleeve of ink. Unnatural red hair draping past her shoulders half way down the tattoo on her arm. She turns and I zoned on her cleavage. She came up to my shoulder but that red top could barely hold those_
She had to say something twice to get my attention away from her cleavage and I still don’t know what she said. But she did smile with dark maroon lips. Lots of eye makeup. She looked like one of the suicide girls I’ve drooled over on the net. Damn, I was hard. I hate to say it but it looks like Sis hit the bull’s eye with a nuke.
When my speech centers began working I said something clever like, “Hello Jillian.” Well it sounds incredibly witty to a brain that just sent a pint of blood down below the beltline. I finally got past the eye shadow and lashes, her eyes were blue. The red hair was shifted slightly toward purple in a page boy style with the straight bangs.
“I love your ink!” I just blurted it out like a fool. Now, I don’t have any ink. I’m not thrilled with needles. If that weren’t enough the word permanent has always kept me from a tattoo parlor. Being stuck with bad ink or just stuck with the same snap shot of your life, long after you’ve moved on doesn’t appeal to me. But it really turns me on somebody else. Any woman boldly showing her tats had to have some special ones hidden deep. Jillian was my fantasy girl.
I skipped the cheap mid range chain restaurants and headed to the only French place in town. It was early enough in the week to get in without a reservation. Jillian was fabulous and that isn’t just an oxygen starved brain talking. Jillian spoke French to the sommelier and ordered some wine after we ordered steaks. She casually mentioned she had, “Studied in France.” We talked about her animal clinic until the meal arrived. She got a rare Chateaubriand and really dug in.
“So you’re not a vegetarian?” That’s kind of witty, I was starting to think with my brain again.
She laughed, “Good God no! I love animals but I work a lot of farms and… Well you know you have to put them down sometimes. You have treat them right but you have to know what they are for. I mean if you spend a morning castrating pigs or cattle you can’t be too squeamish about a juicy piece of meat.”
An involuntary, “Ouch!” Escaped my lips.
“Don’t worry, I didn’t bring my razor.” Jillian winked, and lifted another bite to her lips, “So what do you do?”