Confessions of a Litigation God

Even our silly banter is sexy as f**k. On Tuesday, she started the most ridiculous text conversation ever. I was in a deposition but luckily, I wasn’t the one asking the questions this time. All I had to do was sit there, look interested, and object every once in a while. It went something like this…

Mac: Are you like my boyfriend now?

Me: I’m not sure. Don’t I have to ask you to go steady or something?

Mac: Good question. Grade school was too long ago.

Me: Let me see if I can figure this out. Do boyfriends get bl*w j*bs from their girlfriends?

Mac: Definitely!

Me: Do boyfriends get to go down on their girlfriends as often as they like?

Mac: Most assuredly!

Me: Do boyfriends get to f**k their girlfriends senseless?

Mac: I’m horny.

Me: Focus and answer the question.

Mac: Yes! Yes, they do!

Me: Unfortunately, I don’t think we are technically boyfriend/girlfriend yet. We’re not doing any of those things.

Mac: :(

Me: Did you just sad face me?

Mac: Yup.

Me: Tragic.

Mac: I know. You know, you could fix this and just have sex with me.

Me: All in good time.

Fortunately, the conversation was just funny enough to forestall me getting a full-blown woody during the deposition, and I know I had a stupid smile on my face the entire time.

The rest of the week was filled with similar feel-good stuff. We had dinner a few nights with plenty of lighthearted conversation and although I walked her to her door each night, she couldn’t tempt me to come back in and “tuck her in” again. I refused, simply because I just didn’t think I had the willpower to be near her na**d body and not f**k her.

One night, we both ended up working late. We ordered Chinese and sat in my office talking about the law, even getting into a heated debate over the death penalty. It was fun arguing with her and let’s face it… she’s hot as hell when she gets angry and her br**sts heaved with passion for her cause. And that, of course, made me want to f**k her.

But I stayed strong.

Yeah… the week was pretty f**king perfect the time we spent together, with the exception of my battle with blue balls. I stopped by Mac’s office this evening before I left. We had not made any formal plans for our Friday night date, but when I popped my head in and asked if she wanted to come by my apartment for dinner, she smiled at me so brightly that she would have put the sun to shame. Yes, I know what a big deal that was… inviting Mac to my home. In fact, I seem to clearly remember telling her once that I never brought the women I was just f**king there.

She sees now… for sure, that I view her as far more than that.

She sees now, that I am taking seriously this effort to open myself up to the potential of having a real relationship with someone.

When she rang the doorbell to my apartment, going on now twenty-five minutes ago, I had every intention of inviting her in and having her relax with a glass of wine while I finished cooking dinner. I expected we’d talk, flirt a little, and then eat.

And then… maybe after we cleaned the kitchen, we’d head into the living room and make out for a while. Eventually, I’d f**k her… several times in fact, and then we could drift into an exhausted sleep.

Didn’t work out that way though.

When I opened the door, I was hit with a myriad of feelings. First, foremost, and always, I was hit with desire. She was just stunning in nothing more than a pair of jeans and some flowy, gauzy blouse that hung off her shoulders. Her hair was long and loose, her eyes sparkling.

I also felt just happiness seeing her… knowing that my evening was going to be filled with more than just good f**king. I’m talking about scintillating conversation, and I know Mac is going to have me laughing my ass off.

And finally, I felt excitement for the newness of our relationship and all the things that we’d be exploring not only this night, but also in the nights to come. I had given in to the realization that Mac wasn’t Marissa, and while the concept of trust still gives me constipation, I do have to admit that Mac differs from Marissa in so many ways that I just can’t put her in an apples to apples category.

In other words, I have to give her the benefit of the doubt.

I stood there, just staring at Mac, and she eyed the corkscrew that was in my hand as I was just getting ready to open the wine.

“That’s not a new sexual toy you bought to use on me, is it?” she asked, looking at the corkscrew dubiously. “It looks like it may hurt. ”

I flashed a grin and stepped back so she could come in. “I don’t need toys to use on you, baby. ”

And that was the truth. Didn’t mean I won’t use toys on her at some point, but I don’t have to.

“No, you don’t,” she agreed with enough sexual praise in her voice that I started obsessing on getting through dinner so we could skip straight ahead to the f**king part. I could feel my control starting to slip and my well-orchestrated plans on a slow seduction started to unravel.

“Come in the kitchen,” I told her. “I’m finishing up dinner. ”

“Smells delish… What are we having?”

“Nothing fancy. Just a quick, chicken casserole. I’m not that great of a cook. ”

“Then I’m very impressed that you are trying to cook for me. I think you might get lucky tonight. ”