CopyCat Cafe: The Follow Up

Continues from here.

So I’d just had an unsettling experience with Simon, yes another one, where he’d wandered into my house after I inadvertently left the back door open. Not only did he walk in uninvited he walked all the way into the bathroom where I was showering in preparation for Tom’s visit. Nothing serious had happened and when he did try to push me up against the bench in the kitchen Tom interrupted him.

Whether my knee on the balls was entirely warranted I don’t know, but it happened and at the time I felt justified in doing so. After he recovered and saw Tom at the door Simon’s only response was to bolt out the door and run to his car. My response was to put my arms around Tom.

I know it’s kind of a weird reaction to the situation because I was essentially sexually assaulted by my ex boy friend but standing there in Tom’s arms with only a towel covering my naked body I actually wanted Tom to take me to the bedroom. I wanted to feel loved, and appreciated not touched by someone who was uninvited. However I did push those feelings to the back of my mind and my thoughts were quickly replaced by wonderful feelings of being wrapped in Tom’s warm embrace.

“Are you sure you’re okay? Do you want me to do something?” Tom asked quietly as he held me.

“Just hold me.” I said thinking I had just found my talisman.

Whether he was scared to ask what had happened or didn’t know how to ask such a question didn’t matter in those few short seconds my thoughts had changed and his embrace and concern was more than enough.

After what must have been a full minute I pulled away from Tom’s embrace. “I guess I really should get dressed and organize dinner.”

“I can do that.” Tom replied obviously responding to the second part of the sentence and not the first.

“You can dress me? Are you good at it? Can you pick clothes that match?” I said with a smile trying to bring the situation back to a fun and enjoyable level.

“I meant I can cook dinner!” Tom sounded and looked slightly embarrassed.

Holding the towel against my breasts with one hand and grabbing his hand in the other I then said. “I know but I need to get dressed first so lets see how you handle that!”

Tom didn’t resist as I led him to the bedroom by the hand. By the time we got there thoughts of sex were long gone from my head and being the gentleman he is if they were in Tom’s mind he didn’t voice them.

“So Mr Charming, what do you suggest I wear?”

As I put underwear on Tom stepped into the walk in robe, he was in there only a few moments before walking out with a dress on a hanger in his left hand.

“I like this!” he replied.

As I’ve told you before I don’t have a wardrobe full of sexy, sensual, or revealing clothes, but I do have dresses I like and dresses I feel wonderful in and Tom had picked one of those dresses. It wasn’t a special label or designer dress, it as a dress I had picked up on special at Target, but it was sleek, purple and very comfortable. Not quite the usual thing I would cook dinner in but I wasn’t going to argue with such a nice guy who could pick a dress like Tom could.

After I was dressed we headed back out to the kitchen to prepare dinner and although he didn’t have to Tom of course offered to help cook. I was during that preparation that that he finally asked what had happened with Simon. I had nothing to hide so I told him exactly what had happened.

I told him about forgetting to lock the door as I entered the house and how I was having a shower and it wasn’t until I got out that I noticed Simon standing there. I also told him how and why I pushed Simon to the back door rather than the front door and how he’d pushed me up against the bench.

“That’s as far as it went.” I said. “I’m not saying it couldn’t have gone further, or if you hadn’t showed up I wouldn’t have still over powered him. Trust me I am thankful you did turn up, but he didn’t touch me inappropriately.”

Ok it the whole visit was inappropriate including where he did touch me but Tom obviously knew what I meant and at the time I didn’t have a better way of describing things.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t turn up earlier.”

I stopped what I was doing, turned towards Tom and kissed him on the cheek. “Nothing that happened is your fault Tom. Nothing at all! You are a gentleman and please don’t forget that.”

“Okay, I’m sor…” he stopped himself before apologizing again. “I just don’t know what to say.”

“Tom, you honestly don’t need to say anything. Just being there was more than enough.”

“Alright well I’m glad I could be there for you Kat.” he said and turned back to the bench and restarted cutting up the vegetables.

We went about preparing dinner the conversation about what had happened with Simon was passed and both of us were happy to leave it where we did. A few times when our paths crossed in the smallish kitchen I moved in and gave Tom a kiss, once was so passionate and lingered for so long I nearly forgot I was cooking meat in the pan that needed to be turned.

“Damn! I’m a crappy host.” I said half way through the cooking process.

“Huh? What’s that? Why do you say that?” Tom replied.

“You’ve been hear nearly an hour, you’re even helping cook dinner and I haven’t once offered you a drink.”

“Well yeah I did think that was a bit rude, but I didn’t want to be rude and remind you!” Tom said with a smile and it was good to see humor back in the discussion.

“I think there is some beer in the refrigerator. There is even some wine. What do you prefer?”

We settled on the wine and because Tom’s part of the cooking process was over he offered to get the glasses and pour the drinks. Having been a guest, or more, in my house on more than a few occasions Tom knew where the wine glasses were and he went straight to the cupboard they were in and retrieved them.

Tom poured wine into our glasses on the kitchen bench, next to where our empty plates sat waiting for food. “What’s that on the floor?” he asked.

I had my back to him tending to the steaks and vegetables so I couldn’t see what he was referring to. I turned and stepped up next to him, the meat tongs were still in my hand. “What’s what?” I said answering a question with a question.

“On the floor, under the table. Is that your cell?”

I looked under the table, I didn’t remember taking my cell out of my bag, but then I didn’t remember not locking the door either.

“No that’s not mine.” I said as I stepped around the bench, placing the tongs down as I went. A few steps later I put my hand on the edge of the table and bent over. With my other hand I picked up the cell phone and said. “It’s not mine. It’s Simon’s.”

I hadn’t thought too much about it until that actual second but standing there with Simon’s cell phone in my hand I suddenly wondered whether he’d taken any photos of me in the shower, given the photo he took of me in bed I thought I was justified. I looked at the phone thinking about whether or not to look at it’s contents.

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