Candle Lights

I was still bid to wait while Sycamore prepared his spare room with a small round table and two old-fashioned chairs. He eventually ushered me in, pulled me a seat, walked away...

The spare room was, as I suspected, quite empty – I didn't have much time to analyze the decoration he dispensed there, for he soon returned with two dishes. He placed one of them in front of me on the table, and I examined its content, the tasty-looking spaghetti arranged under thick, bright-red tomato sauce sprinkled with a heavy layer of cheese, the silverware resting by the sides on top of a neatly folded napkin, everything glowing under the bright light of twin candles set at the center of the table, a little to the side though: because of the difference in our heights, Sycamore couldn't see me if it was placed exactly in the middle... And judging by his eyes now, the meal wouldn't be the same if he couldn't heavily scrutinize and catalogue every expression of each muscle in my face, each twitch as the night sunk deeper and the expected hour neared.

I moved my legs under the table – his shoes were around it; his legs were long enough to surround me while thus seated... It felt a little unnerving. I drunk from my glass – grape juice! Sycamore sipped his wine – the gulps were so tiny I could swear he was only wetting his lips, then savoring the drink from them. I observed the small quantity inside the glass, probably expressing some anxiety.

"It is nothing, really..." he assured me with a smile.

Yeah, it was almost nothing, and that's what called my attention – back in my house, he drank eagerly... two, three glasses gulped down while he merrily talked with my mother. Perhaps back then he wanted time to fly, and here... my eyes twitched.

"I want my senses in check, if you must know..." he swirled the drink inside the glass watching as it changed hues "my nerves in their rightful state..." then his eyes turned back to mine, borrowing some of the red hue from his glass.

Oh, those constant reminders! Oh, the now imminent truth. I held my cup firmer between my hands. I was cornered, and he played with me – that's why now his brain must remain alert! He enjoyed my apprehension, he drank from my anxiety... and he wouldn't take another step towards me until he had savored it until he could hold himself no more. I put down my fork for a minute or two.

The sounds of the dish being carefully scrapped filled the room. I examined my surroundings more carefully: the checkered, red tablecloth stretched on top of the wooden table; the intricately braided small basket where two or three breads waited, and where my fingers now idly played; the candle lights, the tiny solitary rose in a thin glass vase barely visible between our plates, Sycamore's perfume... his hair gently pulled back: the exaggerated Italian motif looked more pretentious than impressive, it is true... but it wasn't meant to intimidate me – on the contrary, it seemed he had set the room like it would look in a movie's date. Perhaps he thought that's what little girls expect from their first time? If he had prepared the scenario in hopes that it would match my expectations... then I couldn't help but scoff internally: did he think 'lady and tramp' was my model of a romantic movie? I choked on my juice.

"What do you think of it?" He inquired, his eyes glued on me as they had been the entire time, asking the question as naturally as if I had been making a remark on the decoration rather than just thinking about it. "I figured you wouldn't want to eat out accompanied by me in the evening, so I tried to emulate a restaurant in here..."

"Wise decision!" I scoffed, nervously imagining us on a date, drinking from my cup in order to conceal it "but... what makes you think I was examining your decoration?!"

"You were having quite the talk with yourself: smiling, stretching your eyes and nodding ... You tend to get very expressive when you are nervous, I have taken the liberty to observe. And you are nervous..."

"You don't say!!" I thought of replying, but decided not to get cheeky if I couldn't handle how much bolder the teasing would render him.

"Is it not of your taste?" he asked in a calm sigh.

"Huh?"

"The food, I mean: you have barely touched it! It pleases me that you enjoy your juice so much... but I daresay it's disappointing not to have taken any part in its preparation!"

I only then realized that his plate was empty, and mine was full... He had been sipping from his glass slowly, watching me uninterruptedly all the while.

"Oh! No... it... tastes fine! I'm just..." I faced the plate – the beautiful looking and even better tasting pasta, wondering myself what was the problem "...not hungry..."

"My, my..." he leaned closer, supporting his elbows on the table "Taking care of a girl is surely no easy task! Tell me, dear: do you want me to feed it to you?"

I blushed quickly "No!"

"Well, then... You haven't eaten today, and you won't leave me any choice if you keep that up much longer: I won't have a little lady passing out in my hands, not from inanition... Taste the bread, do!"

I did... but my hunger had left me with my stomach, both died of nervous tension.

"I... I..." I poked the food on my plate, thinking up of an excuse.

Sycamore sighed.

"If you really are not hungry at all, then you can leave it. Perhaps there is something I can do about that appetite of yours, after all..." he hinted.

"Maybe I do want to go to a restaurant in the city!!!" My nervousness spit out before I could measure the words.

Sycamore's eyes widened and his eyebrows arched in a slightly disappointed expression:

"You do, dear?!" it sounded like the saddest of pleas.

"I mean..." I heard the clock ticking on the kitchen. "Yes! Definitely! A night in town... how fun would that be?!!"

One of Sycamore's eyebrows rose in his forehead, and an annoyed sideways smile stretched across his face as he figured out my escape plan.

"Well, alright..." he sighed acquiescing, to my surprise, and picking the napkin from his lap and tossing it on the table "let us get ready..."

"Hmm... really?!" I asked, actually surprised.

"Absolutely dear, if it is your wish... There is only one condition..."

Here it came!

He stretched himself on the table, his finger hooking me by the jaw and pulling me closer.

"You will have to let me decide what you will wear..."

Sounded fair enough... "Okay..."

"And..." he laughed to himself "you must allow me to dress you in it as well, like a quiet little doll..."

He released me, counting on that victory, and I sat back, my eyes sinking inside of me. Well, I didn't want to go to town anyway! I just wanted... more time!

My stomach swirled faster with the tick of the clock in the kitchen. I couldn't imagine how long I had been in there, but it felt like more than an hour. At this point, there wasn't anything else I could do to stall. I grew tenser, probably as visible as it gets in the face.

Sycamore seemed to grow more excited, drinking as he watched me with his smile.

"If I didn't know you better, dearest..." he let out at last "I'd say you are purposely avoiding your bedtime..." And he smiled meanly.

I looked back at my plate: there was still food! Perhaps if I could bring myself to resume eating...

He laughed amusedly.

"I will indulge such behavior for a minute or two longer, because your eyes are teasingly interesting when thus clouded by a pressure I myself am not putting you subject to... but I must remind you that, as your tutor and the one currently responsible for you, I can send you to bed anytime I want."

My heart resumed its fierce pounding.

"My!" he sighed, laying his glass down impatiently "The more you remain in your puzzling silence, Anne, the more I will make a doll out of you, darling thing... Now tell me, for there is a chance we might unburden your small heart right here: is there any issue you would like to discuss with me?"

His eyes were sincere... condescending. I didn't want to back up... but I didn't want to move ahead either. I simply nodded a 'no'.

"Then... is there something you would like to ask me? Any questions… about it?"

"About it?" I repeated to myself, sucking up the words. Then I mused... What was the first thing that came to mind when a girl thought about losing her virginity? I looked back into his eyes – the eyes of the man who was to take it! – and shivered. "Will... will it hurt?"

He closed his eyes and flashed a sarcastic, almost offended smile – but it was still mild in nature. His voice also transformed there – it wasn't plotting, it didn't sound aroused or intimately amused by my insecurity. It sounded like my Professor offering an instruction... comforting, serious, unaffected:

" I will make it so you won't remember it did." Was his neutral answer.

"Hmm..." I nodded, feeling slightly better in the heart, slightly less agitated. I looked down at my knees... it was embarrassing, but I wanted to go on – his seriousness encouraged me to go on, like a gentle guide. "That means... it will... right?"

"Perhaps a little..."

I sighed like in a surrender.

"Here, here... give me your cup! I shall even let you drink a little..." He began to pour wine "Only enough to help you relax..."

"That's illegal!" I reminded him, and was answered with an amused laugh.

"My naïve thing... serving you alcohol will be the least of my crimes tonight! "

There they were again – the shivers! The butterflies! I looked at the cup and took a sip – that was the taste I was going to associate with Sycamore... It was the taste I was going to remember throughout: sour, sweet, stingy on the lips, hot on the brains as I let it inside... A drug I couldn't decide if I desired or detested!

He put out the candles. His hand reached for mine in the dark.