We cooked dinner together at my apartment Saturday night. Laughs and silliness, bolstered with a bottle of wine we drank while we cooked a decent chicken Parmesan and made a terrible attempt at cannolis.
“I suppose this is a result of you being of Irish heritage and me being a southern boy,” Cage said with a grimace when he tasted the first cannoli. The filling was bland and runny while the shell was semi burnt.
So we bundled up in coats and walked two blocks down the street to a donut shop for dessert.
That night was another magical, crazy, and wild romp of pleasure with Cage in my bed. Nothing is ever the same with him. I love that he’s inventive and filthy, but can be sweet and tender at other times. He’s the only man I’ve been with—which there haven’t been that many in my twenty-six years—that makes it his sole purpose to make sure I come first when we fuck, and then a second time before or at the same time he finishes. He’s every woman’s dream in bed.
Sunday was a day of relaxation. We cooked breakfast together, watched the Steelers on TV, and then ordered a pizza for dinner. In between all of that, there was a lot of fooling around, which naturally led to a lot of sex.
And now we’re winding our weekend down with another outdoor excursion. It’s a dark starry night, but in the city, the glow coming from the buildings can often hide such beauty. Cage suggested we ride the Duquesne Incline up to the top of Mount Washington, another Pittsburgh attraction he has yet to see.
We bundle up, and I can smell snow in the air. I bet if I checked my weather app, it will be coming in sometime tonight. I made a big thermos of hot cocoa and spiked it with Baileys for us to drink at the top. We stand in the cable car, a mode of transportation opened in 1877, and make the slow ride to the top with our arms around each other.
It feels… romantic and special. It’s far removed from the rowdy sex we’d had just a few hours before. It feels meaningful that we were doing this late on a Sunday night as an end cap to the weekend before Cage will head home to his apartment to finish some laundry and get ready for the start of his workweek.
The cable car only moves at six miles per hour, and it can be a little scary for those afraid of heights, but the evening view of Pittsburgh and its three rivers is beyond compare in my opinion. The city is so beautiful—who cares about the stars in the sky?
At the top, we exit the car and head to the observation deck. At this time of night, there are only a handful of people riding with us.
We take a few moments at the railing to gaze out at the glory of the lit-up city casting smears of reflective light on the smooth river waters.
“Now that’s magnificent,” Cage murmurs in appreciation.
“I’ve been up this incline dozens of times over my life, and it never fails to amaze me,” I reply.
His arm comes around my shoulder, and he pulls me in tight. It feels so natural to lean my head on his shoulder as we just stand there quietly, neither of us feeling a need to say anything.
More people come to stand around us. We move over to a bench, and I open the thermos of cocoa. After I fill the cup up, we pass it back and forth, sipping on it and chatting. Cage is a newcomer to Pittsburgh, so he asks a lot of questions. He’s fascinated by the steel industry and the fact my father still works in a plant. He’s pretty up to speed on the history of our sports since he’s a man who loves all sports, and we have a heated debate about hockey.
He’s a Carolina Cold Fury fan being from North Carolina, and I obviously root for the Pittsburgh Titans. We make loose plans to check the upcoming schedule to see when the Cold Fury might be coming to Pittsburgh next, agreeing we’ll try to get tickets to go. Despite how well we’ve clicked over the past days, it’s still a bit surprising we’re making “plans” that could be weeks into the future. I have yet to get any sense from Cage that this is anything but something fun for the time being.
Cage gives a shiver as he hands the cup of cocoa back. “Tell me… at some point, do you just get used to the cold? You don’t seem uncomfortable at all.”
Laughing, I pour some more cocoa. “Twenty-six years here, you’d be used to it. Have you never lived anywhere cold?”
Cage’s face clouds over just a bit as he looks out over the city. He doesn’t talk about himself much, and I haven’t pushed. Some people just aren’t open that way, and it hasn’t bothered me.