The Ironwood Collection of Alpha Moves (23 page)

"All right," she said, doubtfully.  "But I wouldn't have chosen the sorbet."

"I know," I assured her.  "That's why I ordered it."  And it was.  After 20 years, my wife's food selections have become predictable.
Chocolate, chocolate, chocolate – it was time to expand her palate.

When they came, I was vindicated.  As good as my chocolate mousse cheesecake was (and how could it have been
bad
?
  Cheesecakes are like blowjobs
), her dessert was
better.
  The freshly made strawberry sorbet was complimented by diced candied orange peel, grated candied ginger, and a shot of
Chambord
lovingly poured over the top. Mint leaf for garnish. 

She made cum noises the entire time she ate.

I only ate half of mine -- I knew we'd want the rest later, and I had plans for that cheesecake.  I finished off my coffee while the waiter brought me a box and the check. 

I tossed
him
my credit card casually without looking at
the bill
.

I had a pretty good idea what it was supposed to be, and when he returned with my card and the slip, it was within a couple of bucks.  I added a 25% tip for outstanding service and then rose to help the Missus with her coat.

"I don't think I can walk," she moaned.

"Do you think you can dance?" I asked. She looked horrified.

"What? 
What do you mean?"

"I mean, if you want to, I can arrange for there to be dancing," I said. 

Every date has a plan.  Every plan has a contingency or six. 
I had a contingency, a club on the other side of town that was hosting a Mardis Gras party and a Zydeco band that played until
1 am
. 

Mrs. Ironwood looked appalled at the thought.

"Jesus,
Ian, I just ate
half a cow!
  And my feet hurt.  If you don't mind, I'd rather just go home."  We found out later that she had been nursing a broken heel, unbeknownst to her.  So it was probably a great idea we didn't go dancing. 
Besides,
I preferred her unspoken proposal.

"Home it is," I agreed.  I hadn't wanted to go dancing, either, but I wanted to have it as an
option.
  I also wanted her to be able to say
" . . . and then he wanted to take me dancing, but I just had to have him instead!"
to her best friends in the post-date
post mortem
.

On the way back out to the car I lit up the cigar.  Mrs. Ironwood leaned into it to inhale.  "It reminds me of my grandfather," she said, happily.  "Only once or twice a year, but usually at Christmas."  A good memory.  I enjoyed smoking it for five or ten minutes, and then when I stopped enjoying it I let it die.

"Damn, that thing stinks," she said, as we drove home.  "But I'm glad you did.  You earned a cigar for tonight!"

"So you had fun?" I asked.

"Did I have fun?  Best date
ever!
" she proclaimed.  "And now we get to the best part!"

It was late.  The highway was deserted.  No cops in sight. 

I headed home at 70 mph.

The
Perfect Red Pill Date Phase
Six:
Sex And Stuff

FAIR WARNING
: While I am a writer of erotica, you will find no lurid or salacious details about my personal sex life here.  The purpose of this post is to
tutor
, not to
titillate
.

From the very beginning of the evening, sex was
always
on the table.  That was the frame I went into the date with:
I'm treating you to a lovely evening of excitement, decadence, and attention, which will culminate in a mutually-satisfactory sexual experience involving a far higher level of expectation than "standard fare". 
There was no doubt in my mind -- nor in hers, thanks to my quiet determination -- that sex was part of the evening's plans.

That being said, there's sex and then there's
Sex
.

Mrs. Ironwood and I have developed a kind of code-word analogy for an ascending level of sexual experiences over the years, using dining experiences as the metaphor.  We like to eat out, so this allows us to discuss sex in front of them subtly and through heavy innuendo.

Here are the
S
tages of Married People Sex
, via the metaphor of eating out:

1.
McDonald's Drive Thru
- This is the bare bones maintenance sex, the "lie back and think of England", "Honey, I'm too tired but you go ahead and do your thing", "If you really need it I'm here for you but try not to wake me up" kind of sex.  Vibrators are suggested
.  Emergency
sex.  Sex when it's not necessarily about anything other than tearing one off.    School-night sex.  Eye contact is optional.  So is consciousness.

2.
Golden Corral
- Implies no-frills sex, usually no more than one or two positions, without more than token foreplay but with eye contact, kissing, a sweet nothing or two.  Expectations are low for both of you.  Orgasms are often optional, but pleasantly received.  Post-coital pillow-talk beyond the basics is unnecessary.

3.
Pizza
-   Light to medium foreplay, oral but not necessarily to orgasm, kissing, intercourse with at least two and up to four positions.  Moderate to heavy pillow talk afterwards, then fall asleep drooling and sticky.  Comfortable, pleasant, "was it good for you, too" sex.  Friday night sex, not Saturday night sex.

4.
Chinese
- Medium to heavy foreplay, oral usually to orgasm, major kissing, intercourse in three to five positions, moderate pillow talk afterwards or between the first and second course.  (It's Chinese . . . you're usually horny again an hour later).  Usually you can't consider Chinese or above with kids in the house.  Not if you do it right.

5.
Italian
- Saturday Night sex.  Sex after a genuine date, usually casual, but you definitely got a sitter.  Maybe a few drinks or a concert.  Public displays of affection, hand-holding, suddenly pulling her into a corner for extended smooching, making out in the car, maybe a little light foreplay on the way home.  Sex in at least four positions, likely twice (or once but for an extended period of time), with mood music and appropriate lighting.  Toys beyond basic vibrator and lube are suggested.  Light fantasy play is also a possibility.

6.
Continental -
High Fantasy sex.  The kind of sex you have when the kids are at the grandparents for a three-day weekend, you have the house to yourself and access to soundproofing.  This is where you experiment with cosplay, advanced toys, BDSM, a bunny suit, trapeze, sex swing, you name it.  Consult local statutes to ensure you aren't breaking any laws.

7.
Four Star
- Hotel sex.  It's in a class by itself.  You put even the most demure wife in a nice hotel room and the possibilities of invoking her inner slut are limitless.  Hotel sex is a fine art, and like fine art it's ridiculously expensive.  There are countless ways to cut down on the expense for a creatively-minded couple, but unless you're fulfilling your cheap hooker fantasy at a local hot sheets rooms-by-the-hour motel, you're going to spend a couple of hundred bucks on this.  It's worth it.  Two or three nights of Four Star hotel sex a year can go light-years in keeping your marital relationship fresh. 

There's only one tier higher than this, Hotel Sex In Vegas After Winning Big.
If it ever happens, I’ll tell you about it.

So that's the scale.  When I ask my wife "what she wants for dinner" and she tells me "I'm feeling like Golden Corral tonight", then we have subtly communicated a) a desire for sex, thus controlling the frame and b) a way to respond with an appropriate level of potential interest. 

Similarly, if she texts me "Going to be a long night -- looks like drive-thru", I know that my chances for anything elaborate are remote, bu
t she might be up for a quickie
if I'm so inclined.   And if I say "Hon, we need to plan a four star trip soon", she knows precisely what that entails.

So, back to the Big Date.

Almost by definition, this was a Continental night, and for another hundred bucks I could have sprung for a surprise hotel room and ended the evening in Four Star territory. 
And that was tempting as we passed a string of hotels.

But part of my goal for the evening was to ensure that she had a good time and I had a good time, and I knew that a hotel room -- while an extravagant luxury she wouldn't hesitate to indulge in -- would also provide additional problems.

First, there was the issue of her not having the arsenal of potions, lotions, pills and powders she uses to feel beautiful (or at least wipe the makeup off of her face), nor anything to sleep in, nor anything to wear tomorrow.  And while I could have planned for that and added a contingency, the second reason made that moot.

The second reason that I didn't push for Level Seven was that I knew that would make her feel far more anxious than sexy. 

Hotel Sex is a
major deal
, and usually requires preparation on the part of both parties to work right.  Without that prep, done to her satisfaction, then she would certainly feel not just a higher level of expectation but have to contend with that without recourse to the things that helped her feel secure and sexy. 

So while a sudden detour to a hotel room would have been exciting, the anxiety involved would have mitigated the all of the good buffing I'd been doing all night.

Besides, we had a sitter.  And while Niece was certainly capable of putting the kids down for the night, our morning routine would be a challenge for her to handle on her own. 

Plus, stately Ironwood Manor is fortunate enough to have the master bedroom semi-detached from the rest of the house, allowing a modicum of privacy and a lot less worry about sound waking up the kids through three doors.  Yes, I planned it that way. 

But while we're here, I did make up the bed with clean sheets -- Egyptian cotton, 1000 threadcount, I'm just that way -- as well as prepare some good sherry as a night-cap.  There were also candles involved, but my room is already set up with ample mood lighting, including a skylight that allowed the light of the moon to shine down on our bed in a particularly romantic way.

So once we mumbled hello-goodnight to the Niece and ensured the kids were comatose for the evening, we threw the leftovers in the fridge and made a bee-line for the bedroom . . . where I immediately allowed Mrs. I full use of the bathroom while I finished preparing for the evening. 

I gave her the privacy despite being married 20 years for the same reason I kick her out of the kitchen when I'm making something particularly exotic or tricky:
working the pleasantly-surprised angle is always a good thing, regardless if you're male or female.