"Oh goodness ... that's incredible."<br/><br/>The man in a white-collar suit wore blue-collar skin -- tough and boiled thin -- that inched up into a smile at Sara's exclamation. Bruce's amused expression marked much more than simply sharing a slice of offered meat, and the gesture was laden with trite, romantic overtures.<i>What's mine is yours</i>, was the unspoken message. Other significations -- ones so subtle, Bruce himself barely recognized them -- cropped up into play as the two opened their hearts to the other. Sara could have been a vegetarian for all Bruce knew; though he asked, Bruce brought the morsel to her lip with a compelling surety that came assured and assuring. The fork upon which the slice of  Filet perched came armed with several sharp prongs, each able to piece those ruby, painted lips he wanted to kiss.<i>Trust m</i>e, the action insisted. And, trust she had, for the satisfaction caused the brightest smile Bruce had ever seen -- one that made his heart swell with nascent love. The magic of the moment seemed to flush them both with a warmth, though Bruce had detected a tinge of relief mixed within Sara's enjoyment.<br/><br/>Bruce regarded the nervous quality in Sara with a curiosity that sprouted from both intrigue and amusement. Feeling nervous was natural on a date, especially when one cared about the outcome. Bruce himself felt a low-grade hum in his belly, but each of them processed the feeling in vastly different ways. To Bruce, the unease amounted to a thrill -- an excitation of what was yet to be conquered and overcome. Their success rang clear with sonorous tone, and Bruce savored each step forward as a sacred building-block of what would be them. Sara, on the other hand, seemed to fixate on the moment and took the evening as a series of measured steps where failure meant the loss of his interest. To Sara, the unease weighed her like a dead anchor and burdened her mind to the promises the evening held in intimate suggestion -- not just for later on, but the day and weeks afterwards when the fretting she radiated was but a shallow memory.<br/><br/>The offer to taste her own food was met with a roguish smile, and the nature of their budding power dynamic came to the fore when Bruce lanced the shrimp with his own fork. That was the key difference: he enthusiastically took what was offered, but gave with an unending care that demanded a degree of self-control from her. Should her lip have quivered or she flinched, a pierced lip would have resulted. Whose fault would it have been? Both of theirs, for in that moment the procedure they embarked upon mandated a cooperation of entangled investment. Beautiful, the act demonstrated the embryonic essence of an intimacy that made Bruce's heart leap from his chest. And, his love for Sara grew along with an unfettered endearment as the blonde partook of the wine that never stopped flowing. Her cheeks flushed, Bruce thought Sara eased and relaxed substantially, shaking off the burdens of overt concern and self-criticism; such transformation was not lost on Bruce, who quietly took mental note of the ameliorating effects -- her brilliant smile, her laughter, her stories -- that came when she cast off her worries. The dull, heavy baggage that self-criticism ladened could not be underestimated, and in Bruce's estimation, Sara had become an expert in debilitating self-judgement, so the extent that her actions and self-image narrowed into a lackluster version of what she could be.<br/><br/>The prisons of the mind were hardest to escape, being the most insidious, designed with the exact knowledge of the self and able to entrap all hope and happiness with astonishing ease. The smallest sins lured one with whims of seeming innocence, and subsequent decisions, in turn, offered unstable ground -- infinite and slippery -- that brought the will further from the possibility of achieving what it needed by offering the illusion of what it wanted. Sara reeked of middle-class, suburban unhappiness -- the product of thwarted dreams, best restrained and un-confrontational, hoping to gain the approval of the legions of milquetoast neighbors. The way Sara dressed at the gala when they met said it all -- an unremarkable presentation as both exhibition of self-worth, but also a deterrent from attracting attention.<br/><br/>Thankfully for Bruce, her efforts had been successful, for he was able to detect and appreciate the remarkable potential in Sara's soul -- a kind of brilliance that shined whenever her eyes truly opened or when she smiled free of disapproval. Attention came in ample supply from Bruce, who could not keep his hands off of Sara, touching her discretely and making her aware that he noticed the slit and lace of her dress, not to mention his approval of her efforts to please him. His fingers felt the lace, indiscriminately wandering to the bare side of her thigh. Their lips would meet in discrete and tender kisses, lingering longer and longer as the date progressed. The wine was certainly helping, and Sara blazed like a perfect, blonde sun for Bruce when she regaled her tales of drunken college antics. Bruce smiled, finding her innocence and voluntary admissions touching -- not everyone could expose embarrassing stories and suffer self-effacement. He found her declaration genuinely funny, and laughed in a deep, baritone bark that only she would ever hear. He wanted to laugh for no one else.<br/><br/>Bruce noticed Sara sending her gaze downward, her cheeky ruddy from the Rosé, a moment of awareness, and pure bashfulness. He had been silent during the story, wanting to let Sara expel every memory in an open floodgate of her revealing her true self. But, the silence remained afterward, and perhaps Sara expected Bruce to share stories of his own college antics. What could he share, given the disparity of experience? Could he reveal that the reason he ultimately left his father for college was the cigar burn that still remain above his right shoulder blade -- a disfigured circle of marred skin? Or, that he evaded the attentions of a former Miss Teen Pennsylvania -- an imperious and bitchy tart -- who made it her goal to prove she could conquer any man? Or, that he resorted to amphetamines to cope with having to work multiple shifts at the metal shop while also studying and bordered on addiction? Or, that he seduced his Statistics teacher and showed her the delights of anal penetration to overlook his falling asleep during class? Or, the relationship with the metal shop's younger secretarial assistant ...<br/><br/>"Dessert?"<br/><br/>Sara's words rescued Bruce from reminiscing over that particularly painful memory, and he re-focused his attentions on the sole woman who mattered. Maybe it was the fifth of scotch Bruce had already consumed, but the scrutiny he applied to the beautiful blonde began to gain a mobilized purpose. Did her eyebrows just perk up at the mention of dessert? The cheesecake from the gala came to mind, and Bruce had already become accustomed to Sara's love of sweets. "Perhaps," Bruce said, his eyes never leaving Sara's face. He surveyed the delicate curvature of her cheek and the texture of her skin. "What do you have available?" The descriptions played off like the music from a confectioner's heaven, and Bruce watched Sara's expressions change when each was announced. A special excitement -- was it a gasp? -- came when the waiter described the cheesecake with raspberry-infused chocolate ganache.<br/><br/>"We'll have one of those," Bruce said, unequivocally. His gaze shifted to the waiter. "Please package it up. We'd like the check."<br/><br/>The game was afoot, and Bruce wanted to see how the evening progressed. Sara would have the dessert to indulge at her leisure, though Bruce stifled a curiosity over how she responded to traces of innocent denial. Sara's nature was -- without question -- submissive, and Bruce hoped to conduct a minor investigation against the vast, rich drapery of their romantic date. Besides, he had more planned for them before they retired for the evening. He kissed Sara's cheek and ear, whispering with erotic heat in his words.<br/><br/>"I thought we might go for a short walk around the block ... there's someplace I'd like to take you."