This is the continuation of last week’s story. The Wongs are all meeting up in San Francisco. It’s the early 1990’s. Peter has already left Eric and Kauai after his father came and “collected” him. Now Peter is going to Stanford Law School and dating Jen.
“Peter, stop, you’re going to make us late.” Jen grabbed one of Peter’s roving hands and pushed it away from her torso.
“We have plenty of time. And it’d be a sin to waste a perfectly good hotel room.” His hand rebounded back to its original position and slid over the silky black material.
“A sin,” she said. She stopped in the middle of brushing on a final bit of blush and looked at him in the bathroom mirror. He pressed his lips to the back of her neck and then the top of her shoulder where the cocktail dress had left her skin exposed.
“Yeah. Like leaving beer undrunk. It’s just wrong.” She smiled and spun around in his arms to face him. She tucked her arms between them, resting her hands on his chest.
“Is that from some sort of Frat Boys Handbook? Or wait. How about, The Hawaiian Beach Bum’s Guide to the Universe.”
“Yes, smart ass. It is.” He leaned in to kiss her.
“Ep! Don’t mess up my makeup,” she said, pushing him back.
“Since when do you care about makeup?”
“Since we’re meeting your parents for the first time. I don’t want to look like some cheap whore whose lipstick is spread all over her face from her last. . . person. . .”
“That’s a good one. Listen to you. You don’t even know the right name for the ‘person’ who’d be messing up your lipstick.”
“John! It’s John.” She stuck out her tongue and walked into the bedroom. Peter followed and watched as she slipped into a pair of black 3-inch heels.
“Seriously, we have tons of time.”
“And seriously, you don’t want to be late. I know how you are about your parents. I don’t want to mess anything up.” Jen walked to the desk that overlooked Sutter Street. The third floor of the Cartwright Hotel didn’t have a great view, but at least she could people-watch without anyone noticing. Especially when the shears were pulled.
“You’re not gonna mess anything up. They’re gonna love you. You have nothing to worry about.” Peter was behind her again, his hands slowly pulling up her dress and reaching under it. He ran his fingers over the front of her panties.
“Peter don’t,” she whispered.
“Don’t what?” he asked. She let her head fall back against his shoulder.
“Did you do what I asked you to do?” he said, breathing into her ear. Jen pushed against his fingers. He rocked her a few times, then slid his hand up and ran his finger across the top edge of her panties. “Did you? Did you do what I asked?”
Jen gave a slight nod. Peter’s fingers slid under the thin piece of material that separated them.
“Oh, yes. You are so smooth. . . So smooth. . .” He stroked her lightly, his fingertips floating across her skin. Then he pressed down more firmly, moving with her as she made small thrusts against him. She was warm and wet as he opened her up and slipped two fingers inside her.
“Oh god. Peter. Please.” With his other hand he pulled down her panties. Then he unbuckled his pants and let them and his underwear drop to the floor.
He whisper in her ear, “I’m gonna keep you just like this.” He bent her forward, and she grabbed the desk. He pushed her legs apart with his hand. “I don’t want to mess up your makeup.”
“Here’s to Jennifer. We’re happy to finally be meeting you.” James Wong raised his glass of Cabernet Sauvignon and took a drink.
“Thank you, sir. I’m so glad to finally be meeting you, too,” said Jen. She and Peter clinked glasses and smiled.
“So Jennifer, are you enjoying your last few months at Stanford?” asked Ellen.
“Oh yes, Mrs. Wong. I love it there. I sort of wish I could be a graduate student forever.”
“Well, it certainly seems to be agreeing with Peter. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him with so much color in his face.”
“Thanks Mom. I’ve been. . . um. . . keeping active.” Jen shot him a look and he mouthed, “What?”
“I think he’s working on getting back his Hawaiian tan. Without the Hawaii.” said Jen.
“Not possible. You need to live there to get one of those. Not even visiting will cut it,” said Peter.
“It’s been so long since I saw you with a real Hawaiian tan,” said Ellen. She turned to Jen. “He was five when we left Honolulu. I used to let him run around our backyard in just his underwear.” She whispered conspiratorially: “He had the cutest tan line on his little white butt.”
“Well he must’ve had a pretty good tan going when you went to pick him up in Kauai,” said Jen as she took a sip of wine. The rest of them froze.
“What do you mean, dear,” said Ellen.
Jen looked up. “You know, when you went to Kauai. To get Peter. Before Stanford.” She turned to Peter. “Isn’t. . . that what you said? Your parents came over on vacation and then packed you up to move back to the mainland?” No one responded. She started to feel like a bad comedian in a bar full of sober people.
James motioned to the waiter.
“We’d like another bottle of this. . . Thanks. . . Ellen, for God’s sake, don’t you remember our last trip to Kauai?” He picked up the Cabernet and emptied it into Jen’s glass. “I swear. The woman goes on so many trips that she can’t keep them straight.”
“Yes, of course, James. How silly of me.” She turned to Ellen. “He’s right, though. I swear, I’d forget the days of the week if James weren’t around to remind me.”
“Oh, you don’t have to tell me. I can hardly remember what I had for breakfast yesterday,” said Jen. She leaned back to let the waiter place her salad in front of her. She fidgited with her napkin and adjusted the position of her silverware on the table.
“Oh! I know. I wanted to tell you how much I love the worry stone,” said Jen.
“The what?” asked Ellen.
“Uh, you know, Mom, the jade stone you bought for me when you visited Kauai,” said Peter.
“Oh, yes. Of course. That.” Ellen glanced at Peter and sipped her wine.
“I found it in Peter’s pocket one day.” Jen started to pick at her salad. “He carries it with him everywhere. It’s so smooth. I think it makes him feel better to rub it when he’s nervous.” Jen glanced at Peter. He coughed into his napkin. “Anyway, he told me how you gave it to him.”
“And that’s when he told you about Kauai?” asked Ellen.
“Uh huh. Sounds like you had a great time. Except for the part when he threw up on the plane.” Jen looked down at her fork-full of salad. “Sorry. Maybe we should change the subject.”
The waiter arrived with the Cabernet. James nodded. “Go ahead and have my son taste it.” The waiter uncorked the bottle and poured out a small glass. Jen watched Peter place the tips of his fingers on the stem and gently pick up the glass. He held it up to the light and swirled it.
“Good legs,” whispered Peter, as the dark red liquid clung to the sides and slowly spread down the curves. He brought the opening to his lips and closed his eyes. As he inhaled, a corner of his mouth pulled back slightly in a satisfied smile. He tipped the glass and let the liquid enter his mouth and spread across his tongue.
He opened his eyes, fixed them on Jen, and smiled.
“How is it Peter?” his father asked.
“Smooth. Very smooth.”
This week’s prompt (from DeBie Hive): “Liars need to have good memories” ~Algernon Sidney
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