Mister O(28)

This is the second time she’s asked, and she really seems to want to know what I’ve done. From my spot on the couch, I contemplate how to answer. The phone bleats again.

Princess: BTW, I was at a party all day. Incidentally, I KILLED it with the six-year-old crowd.





Which means she’s not pissed that Spencer wants to set me up with someone. She was just busy. Dammit. I drag a hand through my hair, wishing she was jealous. Then I scold myself, because my mission is to be her coach.



Yes. And the first date, too.



I move to another clue, and in seconds she responds.

Princess: That’s so unfair! You’re applying different rules to me. Anyway, what else did you do on your dates with her?





Um . . . we didn’t really date that much. We met, we kissed, we screwed. We screwed again, and again. She asked me to tie her to the handle of the refrigerator and do it standing up, so she could test that bit of mild bondage for a scene in her book. I obliged. She wanted me to f*ck her on her desk to make sure she knew how all the parts would align. I did my service. She insisted we get it on by the window, too, so she could press her hands on the glass of her Park Avenue penthouse and have me f*ck her hard from behind.

I suspect that chapter in her novel was quite accurate as well. The relationship was great and completely absurd at the same time.

As I begin to respond, another note arrives.

Princess: I’m just trying to figure all this out. That’s why I’m asking.





Quickly, Harper and I fall into a rhythm, and the texts fly fast and furious.



They weren’t entirely traditional dates in the drinks, dinner, and a movie sense.

Princess: Gee. I wonder what that means. You spent a lot of time in your birthday suit?





That’s one way of putting it.

Princess: What sort of things did you two do? Is that too forward to ask? I’m curious. I’m honestly curious. Okay, maybe I’m nosey too. :)





I stare at the screen, contemplating the depths of Harper’s curiosity. I wish I could grasp why she’s asking—if this is part of her effort to understand the modern man, or if there is any undercurrent. But I’ve got to accept that I just don’t know. And f*ck, if sex is on her mind, then at least we have that in common right now. Welcome to my wavelength. Let’s spend some time together.



You really want to know? You want to go there?

Princess: Yeah, I think I do. You said you’re an open book. I kind of want to know.





Kind of? Just kind of?

Princess: Fine. I REALLY want to know. I really, really, really want to know. Believe me now?





Almost . . .

Princess: I want to understand the protocol. The dirty details . . .





Fine. She wants the nitty-gritty. This is my specialty. This I can do. I’m not the shy, quiet guy she knew in high school. I’ve studied women. I’ve learned what they like.

I start to type, to tell her about the fridge, the desk, the window. To say my ex liked to be tied up with rope, scarves, and one time with her pug’s leash. But when I stare at those words, I can’t send that to Harper. I can’t tell Harper what an ex of mine liked in bed. It’s wrong to J, wrong to me, and wrong to Harper. But I don’t want to lose this moment, with all its possibilities, so I say something else.



Oh, Miss Princess Curious . . . sex is my favorite topic in the entire universe . . . but what if we tried rephrasing that? I’m happy to answer the question more generally. Like, if you were to say, ‘what sort of things do you like,’ I’d answer that.

Princess: WHAT SORT OF THINGS DO YOU LIKE?





Now we’re getting somewhere. And I’m getting horny just thinking about the answer. Make that hornier.



Picture a menu at a restaurant. One of those diners that has everything. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, dessert, drinks, à la carte, sides, entrees. I’m looking at it. I’m ordering one of everything. I LIKE EVERYTHING.

Princess: Really? EVERYTHING? That’s pretty broad. Everything???





If we were having this conversation in person, I’d run my finger across that eyebrow of yours because I know it’s arched skeptically.

Princess: It might be. But ‘everything’ encompasses far too many things. You must have a favorite thing. Do you have a favorite position? A preference? A predilection?





A slow smile spreads across my face as I read that last word.



Predilection was one of the answers to the Sunday crossword puzzle.

Princess: You do the Sunday crossword puzzle?





I try. It’s a predilection of mine.

Princess: I’m impressed. I want to see a finished copy. Do you do the crossword naked?





To answer your veiled question, I’m wearing jeans, boxers, and a T-shirt right now.

Princess: What kind of boxers? Do you smell like springtime?





Black boxer briefs. Yes, I do. Want to sniff me?

Princess: I bet you smell yummy. Now tell me more about your predilections. Do you like hot cops? Sexy librarians? Catwoman? Schoolgirls? Dominatrix?