"Sure, that sounds fab. I know a park we can go to."
"Brilliant. Let's do that."
It's a beautiful, warm morning, so we don't need coats. I try to talk Arden into wearing one, claiming I'm worried she'll catch cold when I'm actually afraid I'll snap and fuck her on the sidewalk if I have to look at her breasts cradled in whatever bra she's wearing. The fabric of her sweater stretches tight over those mounds. She won't wear a coat, so I'm probably doomed.
"Into the lift," I say when the doors open for us.
"The what?"
"Oh. Sorry. I meant elevator. I forget the American words for things."
"Don't worry about it." She walks into the elevator, and I follow. Once the doors slide shut, she asks, "Are you sleeping with anybody right now?"
I roll my eyes at her. "No, Arden, and I won't be sleeping with you either."
"But you want to." She stuffs her hands into her jeans pockets, cocking one hip. "I still don't get why you're anti-relationships. What are you afraid of?"
I make a noise that even I think sounds vaguely like a growl. "I told you earlier, I'm not afraid. Relationships aren't for everyone, you know. I remember reading somewhere that monogamy is a construct of modern civilization, but it's not natural for human beings. We need to shag lots of people in order to propagate the species."
And aren't I so fucking proud of myself for using all those big words. Won't she be so fucking impressed.
She snorts and shakes her head at me. "That's what players say to excuse their sleazy behavior. But you don't strike me as a sleazoid, so I'm guessing you have another, deep-seated reason for being afraid of commitment."
Oh yes, she's so fucking impressed. I really am an idiot, aren't I? Maybe I shouldn't have used the word shag in my little diatribe meant to convince her my lifestyle is noble.
I hope I'm not trying to convince myself of that.
Maybe there's a reason for my behavior, and I don't know what it is. Maybe I should figure that out.
Another time.
"What is a sleazoid?" I ask. "Can't tell if I should be offended until I know what on earth you're talking about. Is that another kind of alien being? Sleazoids must have red skin and forked tails to match their giant, forked dicks."
"Do you have a forked dick?" She raises up on her toes, angling her head down and peering at my crotch. "Maybe you should show me, strictly so I can decide if you really are a sleazoid."
When she moves only her eyes to peek up at me through those thick lashes, her lips kink up at the corners. It's the sexiest thing I've ever seen, and of course, my dick loves it.
Is she trying to seduce me? Little Arden Clover Pesti, the virgin who believes in aliens? I've had women seduce me before---I've always loved when that happens---but none of those other women called me a sleazoid and asked to see my forked penis as part of the seduction. It shouldn't be working on me, but it is. I want to whip out my cock and show her the proof I'm not a sleazoid from the planet Arsehole.
Arden sighs and faces the elevator doors.
Everything she does and says makes me want to call my brother. I know exactly what I'll tell him. "Bugger off, Chance, I'm shagging Arden today. Tell Elena it's not my fault her friend is the world's first nymphomaniac virgin. Cheers. See you at the wedding."
Instead, I glare at the elevator doors until they slide open. Then I shake off my irritation and follow Arden out of the building, listening while she tells me about every building and object we pass on our trip to the park. I learn all about the street vendors too, and I buy us both ice cream cones along the way. I love watching her lick that ice cream. Her pink tongue snakes out, curls around the ice cream, and glides back into her mouth with the tip rolled over. With every sensuous lick, she closes her eyes and moans.
All I can do to stave off a flaming hard-on is to cough into my fist and focus on the most disgusting image I can think of---the rotting corpse of a dead hedgehog I'd once seen in the woods near my parents' house.
The image doesn't cure my problem, but it helps a little.
When we get to the park, Arden leads me down a wide, paved path that takes us past flowering trees and park benches. We see children flying kites and older men playing some sort of game inside a court that has a glass roof over it. Arden informs me they're playing bocce. I've heard of the game, but I have no idea what's involved.
"I don't really understand the game myself," she admits when I ask her about it. "But some people really like it. I once dated a guy who was totally into bocce, and he told me it's related to a British game called bowls. No idea what that is."
"It's a very boring game where you roll little balls around and try to get them close to another little ball." I groan, remembering the times I've sat through games to be polite. "My brother Dane loves bowls. But I didn't realize bocce was the same thing."
We pass a couple of brick buildings, then Arden sits her lovely arse down on a bench and waves for me to join her. I do, but I keep an arm's length between us. Like I said, resisting temptation is not in my nature. Chance has ordered me to go against my every impulse and act as uptight as he is. Or was. He seems to have loosened up a lot since he met Elena. She must be a bloody fantastic lay.
She's also very sweet and very clever. Arden is starting to remind me of Elena, but without the business suits or the inexplicable adoration of my uptight brother. No, Arden is not stuffy. She's like a breath of fresh air that's been imbued with the essence of sunshine.