Glasses clink quietly, and the bond deepens. Possibility becomes probability; mutual curiosity becomes replaced with desire. Desire to share, to explore, and to dare. My head's crazed, memories of a blue-eyed blonde ricochet and careen, sounds and sighs wind their way back into my psyche, and I realize that they were always there, always been there, always will be there.

I have had too much to drink. But, considering this moment, I decide I haven't had enough. Her gaze is intense.

"So, what exactly do you do?"

I sit, quizzical look on my face, not understanding the question. We've talked about our careers already.

"Huh?" I answer, puzzled. "I write. You know that. What do you..."

"I meant with women. Is it like in your books?"

"Heavens, you certainly get right to the point."

"That's me, it's that dauntless Sagittarius rising, always wanting to know."

"In answer to your question, it depends. In 99% of my female relationships, I don't do anything different than you do, I bet. Listen, talk, and share... watch a friendship progress and deepen. Or, watch it fade.

Abruptly, I feel sad. And, my thoughts seem incomplete. "I don't want to describe this to you right now. It's nothing I care to pigeonhole. Difficult to put into words."

"We're both old souls, right? That was mutual agreement. Why'd you invite me to dinner with you? We'd barely met."

"The first time I saw you, it was like lightning hit my heart. At this point, I don't know exactly what the lightning means."

"Attraction."

"In some sense of the word, yes."

"You're just so amazingly different. You're not like anyone I've ever known," she confides.

"You are still young. Everyone you encounter may seem that way for a while. Different."

"Old soul, remember? Call me wise and experienced. Take your compliment."

"Ahh, but true wisdom's in what you do with the experience."

"I like being with you. You answer things in me I don't have to ask aloud."

I smile. Mostly because I understand this feeling.

"I must confess, though. I was not without motive, at first," I admit.

"What's that?" she asks.

"I wanted your mouth."

Her eyes widen slightly, and a trace of a smile appears. Shyly, she ducks her head and sips her drink. Tonight, those eyes are green; the green of the calm; of the storm, deeply flecked with silver.

I am reminded of the Melissa Etheridge lyric: 'Don't you want to ride the storm, then sleep inside the calm, don't you wanna to hit that high, don't you wanna be satisfied, well if you don't want it from me, don't you need?'

The waiter returns with two additional drinks, courtesy of the jazz piano player requesting that we join the small group at the piano bar. I barely hear him, and she jumps in and declines gracefully. We are alone now in the back restaurant patio.

"Do you still?" she continues. Her, I hear.

"Do I still what?"

"Want my mouth."

I am certain I am blushing. I don't answer. The one thing I had felt consumed with was no longer important. I want inside.

Inside the self-possessed, confident woman. Inside the calm, to the eye of the storm.

More silence.

"Where are you?"

"Nowhere special. You weren't there." I don't lie smoothly.

She laughs. "I'll bet that's a line from one of your books."

"It is," I nod, grin creeping across my face.

We both laugh.

"Is this how it starts? This ... feeling?"

"Please, describe it to me. The feeling."

"Is this the writer who wants to know? Or, you?"

"Both."

"I don't want to be studied and dissected... I mean, this is something new for me. Just us, okay? Next thing I know, you'll be taking notes..."

"Come here," I beckon, and she slides closer to me in the booth. The world around us ceases to exist. Words slip away into a vacuum of time, and as those green eyes seek to draw something in me out, I reach and caress her cheek. She shivers slightly, and I take her hand, gently pulling it to me. I caress first the inside of her wrist, then her fingers.

"What do you feel now?" I ask.

"Scared."

"Me too," I admit.

She seems surprised. "You...scared? Why?"

"Because you could make everyone I have ever been with a distant memory. You could be everything. Or, you could be just another night in paradise. I don't want that. Emotional hangovers don't work for me anymore."

" ...just another night in paradise. Now that's an interesting way to look at things. Isn't it okay, sometimes? To do that? If both people are agreeable?"

"This one isn't." My reply is quick.

The silence is deafening for a while, and I feel the need to expound.

"It's not just substituting soft for rough, or mutual connection for blind passion. Well, at least for me it's not. And, physically, it's the dynamics. It's overwhelming in how right it feels. In giving you pleasure, I receive it also. The sounds, the reactions... what we do for one another, what we share, we feel in ourselves. It's a whole different set of feelings with women. Uncharted waters for you, paradise I myself have seen and want to return to.... but not for just a night.

"Your mind is amazing. Have you always been this honest?" she asks.

"I am now. I haven't always been, though."

" I believe you mentioned something earlier. About wanting my mouth. I want... I want to feel that want."

Her words slice through me; slice right to the place in me that's afire. I lean forward, taking her face in my hands, and pull something precious from deep within me. This kiss is borne from that place; it's a sensual lullaby, rocketing us both into raw desire. Her mouth is sweet; soft and gently yielding to my own. The kiss ends, another begins. This time she's testing, tempting me. Her tongue explores, and suddenly she pulls her mouth away, keeping her lips against my cheek, her hands on my shoulders.

"Oh my God. Do you know how that feels?" she asks me, the look on her face something verged on amazed.

"Yes," I whisper. "I know precisely how it feels."

My body is alive with want, and on its way to need.

She sighs. She doesn't have to say a word. I understand. Our mouths meet again, and atoms collide in me like comets; my entire body is incandescent beneath her fingertips. She's exploring... I don't care... just don't pull your mouth away, I keep thinking... touch me, own me everywhere, make this pounding and hammering in my chest go away, replaced with a whir, gentle as hummingbird wings mid-flight, smooth as silk, silk like her skin... her skin. I slide my hand just underneath her shirt, untucked from her jeans, and run a cool palm along her stomach. I hear her gasp.

I pull myself away, somehow planning on regaining my composure.

"Jennifer, I have to take you home."