DATE NIGHT
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Date NightWritten by J.R. Brule
December 3rd, 1993
“Can I please just go on one date without you worrying about me?” Anne said into the phone, dumping laundry on her bed.
“I’m just saying!” Claire said. “You really ought to read the Times. Women simply aren’t safe, Anne. All men keep secrets. I’d hate to see your pretty face all over the front page.”
"How else am I supposed to meet a man? I've been reading so many romance novels that my body's convinced I've been having sex."
“Anne! ...have you not been?”
“It’s hard to have sex when you haven’t met anyone half decent. Most men these days think we’re just mobile masturbation dolls.”
“I sure wish Dale would treat me as such every now and then,” Claire murmured.
Anne laughed. “Don’t even go there.”
“And Donovan? You think he’s the one?”
Anne grabbed the phone with her hand now. “Goodness, no! I don’t want to find the one. I just want someone who will take me to bed without asking for permission every time we meet.” She hung a skirt and picked up a photo from her nightstand. It was of her mother, smiling for the camera, youthful, black and white. Anne wondered if she had ever found the one.
“Anne?”
“Yes?”
“I think you might be a lesbian.”
“Claire!”
“You focus on your career more than even Dale does. Are you sure you don’t want a lady between your sheets?”
She sighed and put the photo down. “Maybe I’ll just be alone forever.”
“No, no, no! Don’t talk like that. Okay, here, forget what I said. Put on that black dress of yours and go have fun tonight. If Donovan asks you back to his place, just say yes, and see what happens. Maybe he’ll surprise you.”
Anne eyed the dress, which hung like the reaper’s shroud. “Well, he did ask me out at the grocery store. That’s a start, I guess.”
There was a knock at the door.
"Shit! He's here! I've gotta go!" She hung up and tossed the phone on her bed.
She slipped out from her t-shirt and rifled inside her dresser, finding a black thong, and wriggled it up between her legs. She slipped into her black dress, zipped it up from the back with struggling arms, and put on a pair of shiny black heels. Moving in front of the mirror, she spun this way and that, fixing small kinks in her appearance.
Maybe I will go to his place tonight. What’s the worst that could happen?
A smiling Donovan waited for her behind the door. His wavy brown hair was combed to the side and he wore a navy blue blazer. He was looking at her with big eyes. “You look... so lovely.”
She curtsied and threw him a practiced smile. “Why thank you.” She wondered what he was thinking with those studious eyes.
“What about me?” he finally asked.
Honestly, she thought maybe he didn’t get out much. “Oh, you look dashing.”
He smiled and stepped to the side, waving a hand for her to pass. “Shall we?”
“Yes! Just a second.” She grabbed her clutch bag, double-checking to make sure it had everything; keys, cash, credit card, lip balm, and Advil.
Donovan led her to his BMW. He opened her door and she thanked him, but would have been happy to do it herself. Donovan circled around and swung in, started up the car. The engine purred into expensive life and he shifted to first gear.
“Oh, a manual,” she said. “How sexy.”
He shifted up to second and pulled out from the development. “Drive nothing but.” He turned on some light rock music.
Anne glanced over, expecting him to look back, but he didn’t. He wore this little smile, shifted up to third, and drove on without saying a word. She was used to seeing men struggle to start a conversation. But Donovan just watched the road, smirking.
“So where are you taking me, mister?”
“I bet most dates would tell you anything you wanted,” he said, shifting up to fourth. "But not me."
“All right... I can handle a bit of mystery. Any hints?”
“Sure. How about we play twenty questions?”
“Remind me, it’s been a while.”
“I’m thinking of where we’re headed. You ask a maximum of twenty questions to get the answer.”
“What if I don’t guess right?”
He looked over with a grin. The streetlight flashed against his face while he shifted to fifth and she thought he looked really sexy. “Then I’ll just have to punish you.”
Anne's legs shifted in the seat, making her realize she might actually like him. He looked away and she wished he hadn’t. She found innuendos disgustingly rude, but Donovan had somehow gotten it just right. “Okay,” she said. “Umm... we’re going downtown.”
“Yes. Nineteen questions left.”
Nineteen? Let’s have some fun, then.
“Hmm... you’re taking me salsa dancing!” She threw her hand in the air and snapped her fingers, danced in her seat.
He smiled but did not look over. “Nope. Eighteen.”
She pretended to pout to see if he’d cave. He didn’t. “Okay... you’re a huge nerd and you’re taking me to Comic Con!”
“Nope. Seventeen. And Comic Con’s not even in town yet.”
“Well that’s good, my costume’s not ready. Umm... midnight bowling! Where the lights go all funky!”
“Nope. Sixteen.”
“You’re taking me to dinner!”
“Yes. Fifteen.”
“Am I supposed to guess where, now?”
“Yes, fourteen.”
“Hey! That counts as a question?”
“Yes, thirteen.”
She crossed her arms, knowing the effect it had on her cleavage. Still, he didn’t look over. “You made reservations for this place weeks in advance.”
“No. Twelve.”
“Okay, you made reservations sometime recent.”
“No, eleven.”
“It’s a fancy place.”
“No, ten.”
She uncrossed her arms--she had thought this was going to be a treat. “You’ve been to this place a lot.”
“Yes, nine.”
“The food is better than it gets credit for.”
“No, eight.”
“It’s fast food.”
“Very fast. Seven.”
Oh great... just when she’d been ready to sleep with him. Now he wasn’t getting anywhere near her private parts. “McDonald’s,” she said, unenthusiastically, this time not caring whether or not he looked at her.
“No. Six.”
“Okay, mister, just where the hell are we going then?”
“Five left.”
“The game’s over. Now I want to know.”
“You have to guess. You still have five questions left.”
“Fine. You’re taking me to your house.”
“Yes. Four.”
Hmm, I can guess what he wants for dessert...
NO. Don’t think like that. He’s got some points to earn back, first.
“You’re cooking for me!” She couldn’t wait to hear him say yes.
But instead, he said, “No. Three questions left.”
“I’m cooking for you?”
“No. Two questions left.”
(all men keep secrets)
Suddenly she felt like she wanted to leave the car. She squirmed in her seat and pulled her dress down as far as it would go.
(pretty face all over the)
Then, she knew the answer, and felt so stupid for not understanding sooner. If he wasn’t cooking for her, and she wasn’t cooking for him, they were getting food catered! Maybe by his own restaurant! “We’re getting dinner catered!” she said, leaning closer, waiting for him to congratulate her.
He looked over, grinning, and opened his mouth real wide. He took a big breath in preparation, and said, “No! One guess left!”
She saw him reach down the crack between his seat and the door, making her heart race--she didn't know what he had down there.
“Donovan?”
“Yes, sweet cheeks?”
She really didn’t like him calling her that. “What are we doing?”
“Why, we’re going to dinner.”
The streetlights streaked across his face in racing stripes, flashing his teeth a bright white. “And you used one more question than you had to spare. Thanks for playing, Anne, but you’ve lost the game.”
She saw him gripping a wooden baseball bat with Louisville Slugger engraved in the middle, its tip matted with dried blood, chipped by what she imagined were teeth. She screamed and clawed at the door lock. It was sucked in too far. She didn't want to look back. The bat cracked against the rear of her skull, and her head felt warm there. In the window's reflection, she saw Donovan's grin as her eyes rolled to the whites. Read Date Night
DESCRIPTION: A young woman's date night leads to something more than just a bang.
Good. You can read it by clicking the button below.
Enjoy.
Date NightWritten by J.R. Brule
December 3rd, 1993
“Can I please just go on one date without you worrying about me?” Anne said into the phone, dumping laundry on her bed.
“I’m just saying!” Claire said. “You really ought to read the Times. Women simply aren’t safe, Anne. All men keep secrets. I’d hate to see your pretty face all over the front page.”
"How else am I supposed to meet a man? I've been reading so many romance novels that my body's convinced I've been having sex."
“Anne! ...have you not been?”
“It’s hard to have sex when you haven’t met anyone half decent. Most men these days think we’re just mobile masturbation dolls.”
“I sure wish Dale would treat me as such every now and then,” Claire murmured.
Anne laughed. “Don’t even go there.”
“And Donovan? You think he’s the one?”
Anne grabbed the phone with her hand now. “Goodness, no! I don’t want to find the one. I just want someone who will take me to bed without asking for permission every time we meet.” She hung a skirt and picked up a photo from her nightstand. It was of her mother, smiling for the camera, youthful, black and white. Anne wondered if she had ever found the one.
“Anne?”
“Yes?”
“I think you might be a lesbian.”
“Claire!”
“You focus on your career more than even Dale does. Are you sure you don’t want a lady between your sheets?”
She sighed and put the photo down. “Maybe I’ll just be alone forever.”
“No, no, no! Don’t talk like that. Okay, here, forget what I said. Put on that black dress of yours and go have fun tonight. If Donovan asks you back to his place, just say yes, and see what happens. Maybe he’ll surprise you.”
Anne eyed the dress, which hung like the reaper’s shroud. “Well, he did ask me out at the grocery store. That’s a start, I guess.”
There was a knock at the door.
"Shit! He's here! I've gotta go!" She hung up and tossed the phone on her bed.
She slipped out from her t-shirt and rifled inside her dresser, finding a black thong, and wriggled it up between her legs. She slipped into her black dress, zipped it up from the back with struggling arms, and put on a pair of shiny black heels. Moving in front of the mirror, she spun this way and that, fixing small kinks in her appearance.
Maybe I will go to his place tonight. What’s the worst that could happen?
A smiling Donovan waited for her behind the door. His wavy brown hair was combed to the side and he wore a navy blue blazer. He was looking at her with big eyes. “You look... so lovely.”
She curtsied and threw him a practiced smile. “Why thank you.” She wondered what he was thinking with those studious eyes.
“What about me?” he finally asked.
Honestly, she thought maybe he didn’t get out much. “Oh, you look dashing.”
He smiled and stepped to the side, waving a hand for her to pass. “Shall we?”
“Yes! Just a second.” She grabbed her clutch bag, double-checking to make sure it had everything; keys, cash, credit card, lip balm, and Advil.
Donovan led her to his BMW. He opened her door and she thanked him, but would have been happy to do it herself. Donovan circled around and swung in, started up the car. The engine purred into expensive life and he shifted to first gear.
“Oh, a manual,” she said. “How sexy.”
He shifted up to second and pulled out from the development. “Drive nothing but.” He turned on some light rock music.
Anne glanced over, expecting him to look back, but he didn’t. He wore this little smile, shifted up to third, and drove on without saying a word. She was used to seeing men struggle to start a conversation. But Donovan just watched the road, smirking.
“So where are you taking me, mister?”
“I bet most dates would tell you anything you wanted,” he said, shifting up to fourth. "But not me."
“All right... I can handle a bit of mystery. Any hints?”
“Sure. How about we play twenty questions?”
“Remind me, it’s been a while.”
“I’m thinking of where we’re headed. You ask a maximum of twenty questions to get the answer.”
“What if I don’t guess right?”
He looked over with a grin. The streetlight flashed against his face while he shifted to fifth and she thought he looked really sexy. “Then I’ll just have to punish you.”
Anne's legs shifted in the seat, making her realize she might actually like him. He looked away and she wished he hadn’t. She found innuendos disgustingly rude, but Donovan had somehow gotten it just right. “Okay,” she said. “Umm... we’re going downtown.”
“Yes. Nineteen questions left.”
Nineteen? Let’s have some fun, then.
“Hmm... you’re taking me salsa dancing!” She threw her hand in the air and snapped her fingers, danced in her seat.
He smiled but did not look over. “Nope. Eighteen.”
She pretended to pout to see if he’d cave. He didn’t. “Okay... you’re a huge nerd and you’re taking me to Comic Con!”
“Nope. Seventeen. And Comic Con’s not even in town yet.”
“Well that’s good, my costume’s not ready. Umm... midnight bowling! Where the lights go all funky!”
“Nope. Sixteen.”
“You’re taking me to dinner!”
“Yes. Fifteen.”
“Am I supposed to guess where, now?”
“Yes, fourteen.”
“Hey! That counts as a question?”
“Yes, thirteen.”
She crossed her arms, knowing the effect it had on her cleavage. Still, he didn’t look over. “You made reservations for this place weeks in advance.”
“No. Twelve.”
“Okay, you made reservations sometime recent.”
“No, eleven.”
“It’s a fancy place.”
“No, ten.”
She uncrossed her arms--she had thought this was going to be a treat. “You’ve been to this place a lot.”
“Yes, nine.”
“The food is better than it gets credit for.”
“No, eight.”
“It’s fast food.”
“Very fast. Seven.”
Oh great... just when she’d been ready to sleep with him. Now he wasn’t getting anywhere near her private parts. “McDonald’s,” she said, unenthusiastically, this time not caring whether or not he looked at her.
“No. Six.”
“Okay, mister, just where the hell are we going then?”
“Five left.”
“The game’s over. Now I want to know.”
“You have to guess. You still have five questions left.”
“Fine. You’re taking me to your house.”
“Yes. Four.”
Hmm, I can guess what he wants for dessert...
NO. Don’t think like that. He’s got some points to earn back, first.
“You’re cooking for me!” She couldn’t wait to hear him say yes.
But instead, he said, “No. Three questions left.”
“I’m cooking for you?”
“No. Two questions left.”
(all men keep secrets)
Suddenly she felt like she wanted to leave the car. She squirmed in her seat and pulled her dress down as far as it would go.
(pretty face all over the)
Then, she knew the answer, and felt so stupid for not understanding sooner. If he wasn’t cooking for her, and she wasn’t cooking for him, they were getting food catered! Maybe by his own restaurant! “We’re getting dinner catered!” she said, leaning closer, waiting for him to congratulate her.
He looked over, grinning, and opened his mouth real wide. He took a big breath in preparation, and said, “No! One guess left!”
She saw him reach down the crack between his seat and the door, making her heart race--she didn't know what he had down there.
“Donovan?”
“Yes, sweet cheeks?”
She really didn’t like him calling her that. “What are we doing?”
“Why, we’re going to dinner.”
The streetlights streaked across his face in racing stripes, flashing his teeth a bright white. “And you used one more question than you had to spare. Thanks for playing, Anne, but you’ve lost the game.”
She saw him gripping a wooden baseball bat with Louisville Slugger engraved in the middle, its tip matted with dried blood, chipped by what she imagined were teeth. She screamed and clawed at the door lock. It was sucked in too far. She didn't want to look back. The bat cracked against the rear of her skull, and her head felt warm there. In the window's reflection, she saw Donovan's grin as her eyes rolled to the whites. Read Date Night
DESCRIPTION: A young woman's date night leads to something more than just a bang.
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