Free Waiting to Exhale by Terry McMillan Page B

sat down on the couch. "Something sure smells good."
    I'd almost forgotten about dinner and had to think for a minute what I'd bought. Stuffed shells from the Price Club, smothered in Classico basil and tomato sauce, along with Italian bread sticks. I had two bottles of wine and had opened one. I made the spinach salad myself.
    "Your place is very nice," he said.
    "Thank you, Michael."
    "Beautiful flowers," he said, touching a gladiola petal. Then he looked at me with a smile on his face and said, "So, Robin, did you buy these for yourself, or do I have some fierce competition out there?" He winked at me. "You don't have to answer that," he said.
    "Are you hungry?" I asked.
    "Starving."
    I betcha, I thought, but I just said, "Good, then let's eat!"
    We ate. And went through a bottle of wine before I even thought to pull out the Price Club cheesecake. Freddie Jackson was sounding evfcn better, now that Michael and I were both feeling pretty mellow. "Dessert?" I asked him.
    "Yes," he said, but before I could get up from the table to get the cheesecake, he said, "I'd like to taste you." His bushy eyebrows moved up and down.
    "Me?" I said, unable to think of anything better.
    Michael got up from the table and took my hand, then led me to the couch.
    "You're a great cook," he said, and I just said thank you, because I felt like taking the credit. Before I knew it, he was kissing me. For such a short man, he had an awfully long tongue, and a wild one at that. I pulled away, then pressed my lips on the side of his and tried not to let the saliva running out the corners of my mouth distract me. I repositioned myself and went to put my tongue in his ear, but it was full of this hard hair that made me change my mind. I rested my chin on his shoulder and pressed my breasts against his chest. For a minute there, I thought I was hugging another woman. I felt these two soft spongelike things on his chest. So I backed away, unbuttoned his shirt, and put my hand inside, only to feel this fatty substance that should've been muscles on his chest. Michael was about a 38B. I was repulsed, but I couldn't say anything, because he was kissing me again and pulling me down on top of him. When I looked at him, his eyes, of course, were closed, and I closed mine for different reasons: I was trying to pretend that he was Russell. But Michael was too soft. What had I gotten myself into?
    "You feel better than I thought you would," he said.
    I didn't say anything, because I couldn't think of anything to say. I would have loved to say, "Let go of me and go home and don't come back, you tub of lard," but you just can't say that kind of thing without hurting somebody's feelings.
    The next thing I knew, Michael was lifting me up and carrying me into the bedroom, just as I was entertaining the thought of how to stop him altogether, but once I saw the sweat beads popping off his temples and heard him panting like an asthmatic and what have you, I felt sort of sorry for him. So when my foot crashed into the bathroom door, I just said, "Wrong room," and pointed to my bedroom. The room was dark, but after we got inside, he bumped into the bed and sort of dropped me on it. I whispered, "Just a minute," and out of sheer habit, went to the bathroom and put in my Today sponge. When I came back, I lit my fat scented candle, and Michael was almost completely undressed, except for his boxer shorts. Since he didn't look like he wanted to do it, I unbuttoned my own sweater and took off my bra. When I saw his eyes grow as big as saucers, I worried about my breasts. With his shorts still on, Michael slid under the covers before I got a chance to see what he had to offer.
    "I knew you were going to be beautiful all over," he said, after I got under the covers. "And you smell so good." He put his little fat hand over one of my breasts and squeezed. My nipples immediately deflated.
    "Do you have protection, or should I get it?" I asked.
    "Right here," he said, pulling it from