Encouraged, you slide your hand a little more, curling your fingers up. When she still doesn’t pull her hand away, and her blush only grows stronger, you finally uncurl your fingers until they rest atop Amy’s. From there, you wait—wait for two long, long minutes as Amy slowly recovers from her embarrassment before finally turning her hand over. Emboldened, you slip your hand down a little further, then a little more, until finally, your hand is resting properly in hers.
Only then, flushed with success, do you allow yourself to settle back in your chair and revel in your victory. Amy is too busy blushing to pay attention to the movie, but you do see her casting glances at your joined hands every few minutes. Idly, you wonder what she’s thinking to make her blush that much—you’re pretty sure that most people don’t turn red quite that much just from holding hands.
She doesn’t try to pull her hand away. Small victories. Take that, popcorn guy.
After about ten minutes, the blush has faded from her face, but she’s still holding onto your hand, and occasionally squeezing it lightly, as though to assure herself she’s still touching you. Each time you do, you make sure to squeeze it back.
Eventually, the movie brings itself to a predictably action-packed ending. You wait for the flood of people to exit the theater before you lead Amy out, still holding her hand. For as long as you can, you hold onto it; you manage right up until you’re nearing the front door and a large man cuts between the two of you, forcing you to release Amy’s hand so he doesn’t sent the two of you tumbling down to the floor.
“Hey!” you say indignantly, but the man doesn’t even stop to listen. Beside you, Amy lets out a low hiss of annoyance.
Now that you’ve let go of her hand, though—your hand moves slightly towards her, but then behind you somebody coughs, and Amy lets her own hand hurriedly fall down. Ouch. Your throat tightens at the move.
“So, um.” Amy chuckles nervously. “That was pretty okay, I thought.”
You shrug. “It was alright,” you concede. It’s tempting to be short and snippy with her, but you just can’t bring yourself to try. Whatever her reason for not wanting to hold your hand in public, it’s probably a good one. You hope. You can’t help but be a little hurt, but you try to swallow it back. It does kill any immediate desire to make a flirtatious comment about watching her instead of the movie, though. "It looked really nice. The visual effects team did a really great job, I thought.”
She nods. “Earth Aleph movies always look nicer.” She looks around, scanning the room. “Mom is going to come and pick me up soon, but we have about ten minutes before she gets here. Do you want to go and sit down?”
“Sure,” you say with a shrug. You lead her over to the seats, then take a seat, Amy sitting across from you. She seems to be nervous about something, by the deep breath she takes before she talks.
“Thanks for taking me out,” she says finally. “I had a really good time today.”
Well, you didn’t exactly take her out— you just told her you’d take her if her friend dropped out again, and got lucky that her friend did. But you won’t argue! “It’s okay,” you reply, giving her a warm smile. “I had a lot of fun too. Even if you won’t let me hold your hand.” You give her a deliberately exaggerated pout.
She turns red again. “Sorry,” she mumbles. “I don’t normally, um. I don’t touch people very much.”
You instantly strike down the perverted thought that comes to mind, then the one that follows that. “Oh,” you say simply. You watch her fight down her blush for a moment, then follow that up with, “I understand. I can keep my hands to myself if you want.”
“No, you don’t need to do that.” Amy shakes her head, then pauses and waggles her finger at you. “Well, yes, you do, but holding hands is fine. Just, um, maybe in private for now.”
“Private hand-holding?” You leer at her, wiggling your eyebrows.
She waves her hands in front of her and scowls. “Not like that!” She gives you a little glare, but you can see the mischievous glint in her eyes. “I don’t do that kind of thing on the first date.”
You pause for a second, then rush in to the opening she left you. “A date, is it?” you ask, your mouth stretching out into a wide grin unbidden.
“If you want,” she says, suddenly nervous. “If you don’t, then-“
You cut her short with another leer. “Of course I want it to be a date,” you say. “I told you already, Amy, anyone would be lucky to take you on a date.”
She snickers at something, but you’re not sure what. “Okay, Taylor. Then it’s a date.” She sounds happy about that. Good.
The two of you chat amicably for a few minutes about that, discussing the strengths and flaws of the movie. You’ve seen enough of it to bluff your way through the conversation, at least—after all, you didn’t spend much time actually watching it. Most of your comments are reserved for the acting and visual effects, the former of which you felt was weak, the latter of which you felt was amazing.
Finally, Amy stiffens, looking over your shoulder. You turn around, and your mouth goes dry.
The last time you’d met Amy’s mother, you’d barely been able to keep your eyes off her. She’s just—she’s hot, that’s the only way you can put it. She wears a very severe expression, but somehow, that only emphasizes her striking features.
And, best of all, she’s wearing a three-piece suit.
Surreptitiously, while the woman’s attention is focused on Amy, you check to make sure you’re not drooling. You’re not. Good.
“Do you need more time?” the severe-looking woman asks Amy. Amy glances towards you, but shakes her head without seeking a response from you. Ordinarily you’d consider that rude, but you understand the impulse to go with this woman. Even if she is Amy’s mother.
Meekly, you wave goodbye to Amy, afraid to open your mouth in case something stupid comes out. She gives you a glum little wave and a quiet “Bye, Taylor” back.
And then you’re left all alone.
Your mood has buoyed back up by the time you retrieve your bag of makeup and head home. Honestly, it wasn’t bad for a first date, you think. You don’t exactly have a lot of dates to compare it to, though.
Dad’s sitting down watching TV when you get back. He looks up as you pass by his couch, giving you a wave and calling out “Hello” before going back to watching whatever’s on. You’re about to pass him by when you catch a glimpse of what’s on, and you pause.
“Is that a documentary?” you ask, bewildered.
He nods. “Lacey told me about it,” he replies. “This guy has a whole series about animals. I thought I’d give it a try. Want to watch it with me?”
You hesitate. You do have classwork you could do, but then— you are finished up for the rest of the year. And that decides you. “Okay,” you say brightly. “Just let me go put this up in my room and I’ll be out in a moment.”
Once you’ve run to your room and tucked the bag away in the corner against your bookcases, you hurry back down and plonk yourself on the lounge beside him. You watch for a few moments, but before you can figure out what it’s about, the program shifts. Ad time.
Dad must sense your curiosity, though, because he looks down at you and smiles. “It’s about cheetahs today,” he informs you. You blink for a moment, taken aback, before you realize he means the animal, not your relationship with Victoria. “Did you know they’re one of the fastest land animals on the planet?”
“I think they’re the fastest,” you reply. “But there are some birds that can go faster, I think.”
The two of you end up watching two episodes of the show— David something or other. It’s actually fairly interesting, you find, although it can drag on a bit at times.
When it’s over, Dad stretches his arms out. You lean back against the couch at the same time, yawning up at the roof.
“Well,” Dad says drowsily, “that was fun. We should find the rest of the show.”
You perk up. “Yeah!” you say enthusiastically. “I think the thrift store has a new DVD section in. We could go there and check it out?”
He considers it for a moment. “It’s probably cheaper than buying it new,” he muses, “but I’ve got to go into work for a management meeting tomorrow. Maybe next weekend, we could make a trip out of it, unless something else pops up.”
“Maybe!” It’d also give you a chance to look for other presents for your girls, so you’re not going to complain. “I wonder if there are any other shows like it. That one was fun.”
Dad taps his chin thoughtfully. “I could always ask Lacey. She’s the one who knows about these shows.”
“Could you?” You can’t help but whine a little. There’s not much on TV that interests you these days. You’d like to have something you could watch with Dad. He just chuckles at your question, though.
“Sure.” He ruffles your hair, causing you to bat at his hands with a frustrated groan. Great, now you’re going to have to brush it again. “Now come on, Taylor. What do you want for dinner?”
Dinner ends up being a noisy affair, with the two of you discussing the show you’d just watched. At times, you consider bringing up the movie you’d watched with Amy, but you’re not sure how you’d explain that to him without admitting that you were on a date, or without having to bring Amy over to meet him.
The two of you aren’t quite at the ‘meet the parents’ step yet. You’d like a little longer to prepare yourself for that so you don’t make an idiot of yourself by drooling over Amy’s mom.
Your dreams that night are pleasant, although your face is still a little sore from rubbing all the makeup off. When you wake up the next morning, you can’t help but feel a little pleased that at least none of your dreams featured Amy’s mother— just Amy herself in varying levels of undress. And Madison, and Victoria. Often at the same time.
The morning passes by in a pleasant haze. Now that you’re not so constricted as to where you can run, your morning jog is a pleasant exercise in mapping out the surrounding neighbourhood with your own eyes, getting a feel for where everything around you is.
Victoria’s book club is about the same as normal, although you do notice that she’s lost any remaining hesitance she had in letting you play with her. For a few minutes, you idly stroke around her entrance, debating whether it’s worth risking slipping a finger inside her here—but no, you know it isn’t. It’s not worth risking your relationship with her for that.
Really, it’s just a normal Sunday up until two o’clock, when the book club ends—and Victoria drags you off to the mall again.
She sets down in an alley a good three blocks over from the mall. “Sorry about the walk,” she says as she puts you down, “but I tend to get mobbed if I fly down next to the mall.”
You shake your head. “No, don’t worry about it,” you say, waving her off. “I wouldn’t want you to get mobbed. You’re all mine this afternoon.”
Victoria raises an eyebrow at you, then leans in for a quick kiss. You allow her to, then sneakily slip a little tongue into it. She shivers, stepping closer for a few moments. You’re just getting into it when she pulls away, giving you a small but sinful smile.
“Turn around, Taylor,” she says. You give her an odd look, but then your mouth goes dry when you realize—she’s still in her fetish costume. If she’s taking you to a mall, then she’s going to have to change first.
You spin around, pouting angrily at the ground. “That’s mean,” you sulk. You can understand why, though. You want to see her naked, but your first time seeing her nude shouldn’t be while she’s getting changed in a dirty back alley. You want her to strip for you, and you want it to be in a classier setting than this.
“Maybe,” she replies cheerfully. You can hear cloth rustling, but as much as you’re tempted, you don’t turn around to take a peek until she finally calls out, “Okay, you can look now.” You turn to look at her, and find her giving you a warm smile.
“That was cruel,” you pout. She just smiles wider, floating over in some civilian clothes— a plain t-shirt and a pair of jeans— to give you a kiss. You allow her to, and even pull her in a little deeper so you can swirl your tongue around hers, but after a few moments you pull back.
“It was,” she says agreeably after she’s caught her breath. “But thank you for not peeking.” This time, the kiss she gives you isn’t on the mouth; she gives you a quick, soft kiss on the cheek, sending a warm feeling running down your body.
You almost prefer it to the earlier kiss.
You tug your bag over your shoulder. It’s empty today, so that whatever the two of you end up buying can just go inside it. “We should probably go inside,” you say.
Victoria nods. You take her hand, but quickly reconsider and reluctantly let go of it as you lead her out the alley and towards the mall. She passively follows you willingly enough, which brings a small smile to your face, but once the two of you make it to the mall, she steps in front of you to lead you to the store.
Thankfully, this one isn’t an expensive boutique. It’s still a specialty store, but it just specializes in clothing for women, not clothing made out of some kind of spun gold or anything. The prices are actually reasonable, if higher than you prefer.
“Right,” Victoria says, cracking her fingers. “Time to find you some clothes.”
